


In the Face of Adversity

by MooseKababs



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Footsie, Kissing, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Really badly done legal procedure, because i have no idea how politics works dsjgkf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13898724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseKababs/pseuds/MooseKababs
Summary: In the midst of high-tension peace talks, an unlikely romance blossoms. Ultra Magnus struggles to understand his feelings on the matter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back with more hot garbage! Surprise, It's me! 
> 
> Anyway this first chapter is short and dry and I apologize but it picks up in chapter two, I promise! Also, a big thank you to the wonderful [Kibahshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibahshi/pseuds/kibahshi) For betaing this mess!

The impossible had happened; Galvatron had called for a ceasefire.

The avowal had come to them abruptly out of the inky blackness of space. It had been intercepted per procedure by a trainee working in communications, who had listened to the first few moments and then immediately called for Blaster. Blaster had listened to it in its entirety, then turned and called for Rodimus. 

Rodimus- disgruntled to have been pulled out of his meeting with the Euphilan Ambassador- listened to the message. He waffled over it’s sincerity, debated about it with Blaster, and then finally called in Ultra Magnus, charging him with outlining the terms of peace and responding to the message.

Two orns later, the relevant parties gathered in Iacon. Galvatron, Cyclonus, Scourge, and Soundwave had come in a battleship to the capital spaceport. They had been met by the Autobot officers of equivalent rank-- Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Springer, and Jazz. 

A small crowd had gathered, stunned at the news that such an imposing enemy was coming to their shores unassailed. The visiting party glowered balefully at the onlookers, all controlled menace and wickedness, before the Prime stepped forward to offer them a wary greeting in hopes of lowering the tension of the gathering.

It didn't work.

The hostility remained where it was, and after the formality of introductions had passed, the group moved onward to the capital building that served as the Autobot’s base of operations, coming to a stop in the grand conference room.

There, on one side of the table, Galvatron sat flanked by his officers, mirrored by Rodimus on the opposite side. There was a long, uncomfortable stint of silence, where each mech stared down their counterpart-- excluding Ultra Magnus, who busied himself retrieving what he would need to help officiate the process from his subspace. He did not need to look to feel Cyclonus’ fierce gaze on him as he arranged his supplies on the tabletop. 

He straightened after a moment, turning toward Rodimus, who seemed distinctly uncomfortable about all of the expectant stares leveled on him. Rodimus turned toward his second slightly, spreading his arms.

“I’ll be frank, I have no idea how this works.” He offered to everyone present. The admission seemed to only make the Decepticon leader’s sneer deepen. The Prime seemed aware of this, as his voice faltered somewhat as he continued. “Thankfully, Magnus is more than capable of leading this meeting for us. Magnus?”

The big mech quashed his annoyance at the shortening of his name, sitting forward to better address all of those present.

“As you are all aware, we are here to discuss the terms necessary to carry this ceasefire forward into an armistice.” He began, looking over his array of datapads at the faces of every mech there, including the Autobots. The expressions on their faces ranged from passive to bored, serious to disgruntled, but each of them seemed to be paying attention. “As much bad blood as there may be between our factions, it is important that we contain ourselves and discuss this rationally if we are to have any hope of lasting peace.”

No-one spoke, and so he continued, consulting the outline on one of his datapads. “Formally, the first step to this process is for both sides to state their intents. As the initiating party, the Decepticons are obligated to begin.”

Galvatron sat forward and opened his mouth as if to speak, before casting a glance at his second, who had straightened when his lord began to move. After a beat of private communication between the two, the big gunformer sat back and crossed his arms. Cyclonus reset his vocalizer, then spoke.

“At this moment, we seek only three things that are rightfully ours; amnesty, citizenship, and the right to our own domain on the planet.” He said, face filled with a cool competence to rival even Jazz’s. 

Ultra Magnus watched Springer tense at the statement, leaning forward in a mirror of what the Decepticon leader had done in preparation to make his outrage known. Luckily Rodimus intercepted in time, laying a hand on his friend’s arm. 

Cyclonus watched through sharp optics, but then continued. “We have been made aware you function on the old laws of Cybertron, which explicitly states that any and all errant Cybertronian sovereigns have the right their own dominion on the planet’s surface.”

The Prime and his third in command looked disconcerted, and Rodimus glanced from the flier’s complacent expression to Ultra Magnus. The semi nodded shallowly in response to his leader’s silent inquiry, looking down at one of his datapads and scrolling through it expediently before handing it over for review.

“He’s right. It's an archaic law, something we simply haven't gotten around to revising. It was put in place with regards to the settlements that branched off from Cybertron proper during the Cybertronian Revolution, like Velocitron and Junk.” He glanced up only very briefly to ascertain whether he had the congregation’s attention, before focusing on the text once more. 

“They wanted to give those in exile a claim to land if they ever came back home once our kind was free.” He explained, watching Rodimus scan the document with an almost palpable apprehension, “ _ Technically _ , since there is no specific stipulation that it has to be one of those parties, it  _ is _ viable. In the eyes of the law, they are a roving sovereignty and qualify for the recompense.” 

The Prime sighed, handing the file down the line for Springer to scrutinize before rubbing at his face with his palms. Magnus didn’t see the triple changer’s reaction to the clause; below the table, his pede had bumped someone elses, and he pulled it back immediately, flustering slightly and casting his gaze about to see if someone across from him looked at all disturbed. 

Everyone sat, their attention directed towards the Autobot third in command and the young prime, who looked equal parts disgruntled and dread-filled. The semi straightened his datapads, then recollected the one he had sent down the line and squared it up as well.

“Well, that’s just…” Rodimus began, working his jaw. “ _ Peachy.” _

Springer looked incredulous, “Prime, you can’t seriously be considering this. Amnesty?  _ Sovereignty?  _ They’re  _ criminals! _ ”

“Correction: Autobots, Decepticons both  _ belligerent parties  _ in time of war.” Intoned Soundwave where he sat across from Jazz. Springer shot him a glare, and Magnus leaned forward over the table to better address him.

“Springer, if you cannot control yourself, I’ll have to ask you to leave.” The semi stated, looking at him stonily. Rodimus nodded.

“Besides, as much as it pains me to say this, Soundwave is right. The Autobots and Decepticons were  _ both  _ responsible for the war.” The Prime conceded. “If they qualify, they qualify. We’ll have to live with it. It’s our laws, anyway. We can’t be picky  _ now. _ ”

For a moment, the gathering settled. Once more, each participant surveyed the others; this time, Ultra Magnus was unoccupied, and found his gaze drawn to Cyclonus. The jet seemed smugly self-assured, his posture relaxed and expression agog, and it didn't take long for his crimson optics to lock with the semi’s steel blue ones. Nothing happened for a beat, but then the purple mech’s mouth curled upwards into a smirk, his eyes narrowed, and he raked his pointed dentae over his lip. 

Magnus startled, leaning back and looking away from the other, fighting the strange bloom of heat the jet’s expression inspired in him. 

“Well,  _ Rodimus Prime? _ ” Galvatron sneered, drawing Ultra Magnus’s attention away from where he had been awkwardly avoiding looking at the Decepticon second-in-command, “Why don't you grace us with  _ your  _ intentions?”

The mech in question slumped back in his chair, running a hand down his face. “Well, first and foremost a cessation of all hostilities. Indefinitely. In order for us to allow you any of  _ your _ conditions you’d have to agree to abide by the laws of Cybertron. We can't grant you citizenship- much less your own domain- if you're going to continue to tax our alliances with the local civilizations. I also won't countenance admitting you into my population if you're going to murder and abuse the civilians we harbor.”

Beside Galvatron, Scourge scoffed. “You Autobots believe us to be animals with no self control. You assume that the moment we are left unattended, we’ll kill your people and raze your cities. You seem to think we have no reason to desire peace-- that we are unable to  _ be  _ peaceful. One of many reasons you are widely regarded to be fools on our side of the divide.”

At that, even Ultra Magnus felt offended, but he did his best to quash the feeling before it could reach his faceplates. He quietly thanked Primus that both Springer and Rodimus managed to keep themselves in line. 

The Prime crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.

“I take it that means you accept?” He groused. 

“For once, you would be correct.” Galvatron replied, his smirk deepening. 

“... _ Right.”  _ Rodimus sighed finally, turning toward his second in command with his distaste clear on his face. “What’s next then, Magnus?”

The blue mech regarded his datapad critically. “The next step is to agree on an armistice period.” 

Rodimus turned back to the Decepticons. “We already told you we expect this to last indefinitely, and by that I mean  _ permanently.  _ No takesies- backsies.”

Internally, Magnus sighed. Leave it to Rodimus Prime to use a term like ‘takesies-backsies’ in an important political setting. 

He was unable to linger on his exasperation much longer, as someone touched his pede under the table again; this time, instead of a simple bump to the side, the other party’s foot slid over the top of his hallex-plate one way, then back the way it came before he yanked his foot back, surveying the other side more closely. 

Once more, Cyclonus caught his eye. The jet looked coy, peering at the larger mech across from him from the sides of his optics, overtop of his clasped hands. Magnus ruffled, his own optics locked on the purple mech, and opened his mouth to say something to the other mech-- but he was stopped in his tracks when Rodimus tapped his shoulder.

“Ground Control to Major Tom, are you receiving?” He said, smiling a half smile at his second, who looked back, startled. “They agreed. What’s next?”

“Y-Yes, right,” Magnus murmured looking frazzled. The slightest flush colored his features as he consulted his data-pad once more. “If we are all amenable to the terms, and to the length for which this armistice will last, all that is left is to draft the actual document. At our next meeting, we can review it and make any necessary changes.”

“ _ Cool. _ ” All of the Prime’s tension left him with a great sigh, and he looked over at the Decepticons. “Anything else you need, or can you be escorted back to your ship?”

Galvatron stood, the strength that suffused his frame enough to intimidate lesser mechs. Fortunately, no lesser mechs were present. 

“We are _done here,_ ” he all but growled, looking oddly pleased. “We shall return in short order to finalize this transaction.”

Rodimus made an unimpressed face and waved at Springer and Jazz, who rose to bracket the Decepticons and take them back to the spaceport. As they were ushered through the door, Cyclonus glanced over his rather formidable shoulder and smiled once more at the semi, who frowned in return. 

The door closed on the sound of the jet’s laughter, and Magnus sunk back in his chair, thoroughly flummoxed. Beside him, Rodimus scrubbed at his face.

“So, how genuine do you think this is?” the younger mech asked, rolling his helm towards his second. Magnus shrugged after a moment.

“That remains to be seen.” He said, sounding none too happy. “The Decepticons and their motives are often a mystery to me.”

Rodimus screwed up his face and let out an overdramatic groan. The sound was somewhere between frustrated and confused. Magnus felt much the same, though he kept it internalized for the most part.

“This is so  _ weird! _ ” The Prime groused. The semi nodded solemnly.

“You don’t even know the half of it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is wednesday, my dudes. Again, thanks to [Kibahshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibahshi/pseuds/kibahshi) for editing!

The follow-up meeting had gone significantly less smoothly. 

All had  _ seemed _ calm when the Decepticons had arrived. They had once more convened in the main boardroom, each mech taking the same seat they had occupied before. Ultra Magnus had supplied a copy of the drafted agreement to everyone, and for a few joors they had trawled through the minutiae of the contract. 

The process was made even less efficient due to the paranoid way in which Galvatron would demand clarification on nearly every point, and then once Magnus explained why things were worded the way they were, he would turn towards his advisors and demand they, too, explain it to him. 

To say the least, it was  _ tiring  _ having to literally explain everything twice.  Even the semi felt his nerves fraying under the blatant mistrust-- and the situation was made no better by the fact that Cyclonus continued to make strange faces and watch him surreptitiously. That, or bump his pede whenever it seemed that the Autobot second-in-command was at his most annoyed. It didn’t do him any favors in keeping his poise.

“And this,” the big purple mech said, tapping at the screen of his datapad, “Explain this one to me.”

Magnus took a moment to compose himself before answering. “This line states, simply, that should anyone-- Decepticon  _ or  _ Autobot-- commit an offense, they are required to submit to the legal procedure outlined by The Cybertronian Commonwealth, assuming it occurs within the the confines of the Commonwealth itself.”

“That is unacceptable,” Scourge intoned immediately. “Perhaps this could be included in a proper peace treaty but in an armistice agreement it is too restrictive. It must either be removed or reworked to better fit the situation.”

“How is it too restrictive for you to own up if you break the law?” Springer demanded, his ire apparent on his faceplates. 

Scourge crossed his arms, unimpressed by the other’s lack of decorum.

“I told you already. Did you not listen, Autobot?” He groused. “First of all, this claims that  _ all crime  _ committed within your boundaries would be taken through the process of your laws. Until our demands are addressed and met, with a  _ permanent treaty,  _ we should not be forced to adhere to yours.”

The green mech moved to object once more, but was interrupted by Rodimus  _ groaning.  _

The entire assembly looked at him as he flung his helm back and scrubbed at his face with his palms.

“ _ Primus,” _ He swore, letting his arms flop back down into his lap, “I really did not expect this meeting to run this late. Everyone, just…” He raised his hands in a placating gesture, exhausted. “Cool your heels for a breem. I need something to eat, I skipped breakfast this morning.”

Galvatron scoffed. “Typical Autobot!  _ Our kind  _ goes without food for whole orns, and you are enfeebled if you don’t eat three times an orn?  _ Pathetic!”  _ He crowed, sneering, “It has been a  _ groon _ since  _ I _ last ate!”

Behind him, Scourge and Cyclonus shared a sharp look, before the second in command rose to his feet looking a little harried. His leader eyed him warily, and the horned mech bowed his helm in submission. 

“I must go retrieve something from the ship,” the jet said, turning only when Galvatron’s gaze had left him to quickly stride out the door. Magnus watched him go, then stood himself.

“Rodimus, I’ll go get you something to eat. I’ll be back.” He supplied hurriedly, waving over his shoulder when Jazz called out a request for fuel as well. 

Around the table, each mech stood in slow succession and moved off to separate corners gradually. Rodimus took a moment to stretch, bending down to touch his pedes and crossing his arms over his chest one at a time to work out the tension that had accrued in his flexor cables while he had been hunched over the table for the past few joors. Beside him, Springer was grousing about something that sounded mocking. 

On the opposite side of the room, Galvatron stood with his arms crossed as he observed the plaques decorating the walls. Each one told of a different political conquest that had been achieved in the boardroom they occupied. Scourge lingered near him, guardedly watching his leader. 

Jazz considered both pairs of mechs for a moment, before choosing to rise from his seat and round the table. 

Soundwave watched him in the same quiet way he did everything, barely turning his head in acknowledgement when the saboteur slipped into the chair- Scourge’s- beside him. 

“Sounders, m’mech. How’s it hangin’?” Jazz greeted, his tone cheerful. Soundwave didn't respond right away, but slowly relaxed out of his upright posture, sinking back into his chair and turning his face away from the smaller mech. 

“Ooh. That bad?” Jazz continued. 

Once more he received no straightforward answer; The host mech slowly turned his helm until he stared into his own lap and at his servos which tangled together there. A beat of silence passed between them.

Jazz had a lifetime’s worth of experience with the taciturn mech. He knew how Soundwave acted under stress, when he was happy, tired, in pain. He knew the other mech’s reactions, was familiar in nearly intimate ways with how his mind worked and how he expressed his thoughts and emotions. 

But never, in all his years, had he seen the telepath seem so downtrodden and unsure; so  _ sad _ . 

Twice the group had met for peace talks and in that time, the host mech had uttered only one soft line. It was almost  _ unnerving  _ how out of character the other seemed. Jazz knew enough about Soundwave to understand  _ something  _ was bothering him, but he couldn't figure what it might be. He frowned, crossing his arms.

“What’s eatin’ ya’, mech?” the saboteur prompted, tilting his head, “You upset about the armistice?”

The host mech looked down further until his chin touched his chestplates. “Soundwave:  _ mourning. _ ”

The smaller mech’s frown deepened, and he straightened his neck, leaning forward to brace his still-crossed arms on the tabletop. “Hey. I know all about loss. I won’t ask you to spill your guts to me, but if ya’ ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for ya’.”

Hesitantly, Soundwave turned to look at the spy. “Jazz: Soundwave adversary. Query: Why does Jazz offer support?”

“Losin’ someone is hard, no matter who ya’ are. Sometimes, grief’s easier to bear when there’s someone else there with ya’. I had a lot of people to help me through my grief, but lookin’ at the company you’re keepin’, I find it hard to believe you have a lot of options when it comes to emotional support.” He said, glancing over the back of the chair towards where Galvatron was still lurking, making gestures at his third and grumbling something just quietly enough to be incomprehensible. 

He looked back at the crestfallen surveillance expert and offered a half-smile. “Besides, Sounders, haven’t ya’ heard? Times are changin’. Soon enough, we’re gonna be neighbors. I might as well extend the olive branch now, yeah?”

Soundwave nodded haltingly, and- together- they slipped into a comfortable silence.

* * *

 

Magnus hurried around the corner, energon in hand, and was relieved to see the quarry of his search in front of him. 

He straightened, calling out to the other, who stopped and turned to regard him with a raised optical ridge. The blue mech hastily crossed the distance between them, squaring his shoulders as he approached.

“Ultra Magnus.” The other greeted, his tone filled with casual civility. Each of his servos held two energon cubes, and the semi frowned slightly at their diminutive size before redirecting his gaze at his opposite. Cyclonus continued, “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes,” he began, frown deepening somewhat, “I will be straightforward. I want to know what you mean with the strange expressions you keep making at me during our meetings. Am I somehow bothering you?”

The purple mech’s face suddenly twisted with humor, and a deep chuckle rose from somewhere in his chest. “Let me clarify; you wish to know the motivations behind my actions, yes?”

The bigger mech nodded, “I would appreciate if you would elucidate.”

“Why, Ultra Magnus,” the jet said, expression turning coy, “Have you never been  _ flirted _ with before?”

Magnus startled, blinking a few times before somehow managing to etch his frown more deeply into his features, his brows knitting together in his confusion. 

“Excuse me,” he started, taking a moment to compose himself. “I don't think I heard you correctly. Could you repeat that?”

Cyclonus nearly balked at the blue mech, in awe at his guilelessness. He straightened from his relaxed posture. “I was flirting with you. Showing my interest in you as a potential romantic partner.”

Magnus seemed even more confused, his shoulders sagging  while he stared into the cubes of energon he held, as if they held the answers to his predicament. He could feel the plating on the back of his neck and the tips of his finials burning. 

Beside him the jet frowned and raised his optical ridge. “If it is a problem, I will not do it again. I had no idea the Autobots were so…  _ prudish. _ ”

“We’re not  _ prudish!”  _ the semi defended vehemently.The Decepticon’s smile returned to the corners of his mouth as the Autobot began to clam up again. “We just--! I-I--!”

“You’ve never been flirted with before.” Cyclonus finished for him, ruby optics flittering over the taller mech’s face as if reading something written. His voice was not teasing; it seemed he was offering a genuine suggestion to the frazzled mech.

“...No. Never,” Ultra Magnus sighed after a moment. “I’m...  _ unsure _ how to react to it.”

“Well,” the Decepticon began, shifting his weight, “Do you want me to stop?”

The taller mech’s shoulder dropped further. “I… don't know that, either.”

Cyclonus hummed. “Do you know if it makes you uncomfortable?”

Magnus seemed to waffle for a moment, picking up his helm and squinting at the far wall in thought. “Perhaps not the act itself. More so that it's... occurring during work time... Although I understand that there's not much  _ option _ for you to do it besides then.”

Another hum. “And… are you  _ interested _ ?”

Now the flush that had gripped his extremities flooded the blue mech's face. He straightened abruptly. The Decepticon almost laughed at the taller mech’s expression. 

“You don't know that either.”

“No,” he Magnus said with a defeated voice, looking down at his pedes as if ashamed,“I… have never thought about it.”

The jet nodded. “Fair enough. I proposition that I continue to occasionally show my interest-- perhaps at more appropriate times-- and  _ we _ go from  _ there. _ Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Hesitantly, the semi locked eyes with his counterpart, almost shocked at what he saw. 

There was no deviousness in Cyclonus’ optics; no wily angle to his smile. As far as he could tell, the purple mech was being genuine. 

Without breaking their optical contact, Magnus nodded slowly. “I believe that would be acceptable.”

“Good,” Cyclonus said, smiling. “Then I look forward to it.”

Another strange wash of heat that the Autobot was coming to associate with the jet spread through his lines, but before he could examine it, Cyclonus spoke again.

“Would you be adverse to accompanying me back to the boardroom? I do not wish to become… turned around.” The Decepticon said, his voice now honeyed and just a touch mischievous. The blue mech smiled at last.

“Oh,” Magnus said, his eyes crinkling softly at the corners in his mirth at the other's purposeful transparency, “I don't think I would mind that.”

Cyclonus smiled as well, and together they turned once more in the direction of the conference room, side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! :>


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT's WEDNESDAY SO I'M BACK WITH MORE HOT MESS TO SHARE

With the armistice finalized, they had immediately delved into the work of drafting a permanent accord-- and, predictably, the first thing Galvatron had demanded was to mark out the boundaries of the territory they would be given. 

After three meetings with the mercurial and self-righteous leader of the Decepticons, the Autobots had all agreed that no matter how annoying and demeaning his behavior was, it was best to indulge him, as doing so made the whole process faster and more tolerable overall for everyone involved. With that in mind, when Galvatron had ordered that he be taken to and shown his new fiefdom, they had reluctantly obeyed. 

It was as they were all standing to go to the spaceport to be taken to the three state parcel they'd set aside for the Decepticons that Cyclonus had made his move.

“My liege,” he had said, bowing at the waist, “By your leave, I would ask that myself and Ultra Magnus be allowed stay behind to begin the particulars of the treaty.”

Galvatron had thought hard, face screwed up in concentration. His optics were sharp as he surveyed his second and the larger blue mech behind him with clear distrust. 

“You will make no agreements in my name, Cyclonus, if I allow this.” He declared. Cyclonus, his optics still downcast in deference, nodded.

“Of course not, my lord. I would never be so foolish as to believe I could do such a thing.” He assured. After a long moment, the cannon nodded his assent.

“Very well.” Galvatron amended. Cyclonus thanked him effusively. 

The whole group followed silently as Galvatron and Rodimus navigated back towards the shuttle bay. Farewells were exchanged just before the three pairs entered the shuttle, and Magnus had watched Scourge and Cyclonus share a meaningful glance at one another as the group boarded.

The semi and his unlikely companion watched until the craft was a distant twinkle in the sky before turning silently to enter the building once more, the first drops of rain pinging on their armor. Once they were inside, the Autobot looked over at the Decepticon.

“You seem to handle yourself well with regards to Galvatron,” he offered. Cyclonus looked at him questioningly- almost curiously-, and Magnus continued. “You know how to tell him what he wants to hear.”

The Decepticon sighed.

“It is a skill born of necessity, I assure you,” Cyclonus began, “Galvatron is… unwell. Scourge and I, and to a lesser extent Soundwave, have learned how to deal with him, in the hopes of circumventing as many of his episodes as possible.” His optics turned downcast. “It is our hope that with this peace, we will eventually be able to convince him to seek medical attention. The destruction of our creator did many things to him, none of which were beneficial.”

The bigger mech worked his jaw, gaze falling to the floor as well. It was common knowledge that  _ something  _ was wrong with Galvatron, and speculation ran wild about what it was, but the idea that the Autobots were even inadvertently responsible for his condition had never occured to the semi. The notion made him uncomfortable, a strange nausea flipping his tanks the more he turned the thought over in his mind. 

As they rounded the corner before the Officers’ Hall, the jet looked at him curiously. 

“You look upset,” He opined gently, and Magnus startled slightly at the sound of his voice. “Is there something on your mind?”

Magnus tilted his helm abashedly. “I hadn’t considered that Galvatron’s condition was as a result of our actions… To be honest, it doesn’t sit right with me. I feel guilty-- especially for once thinking I was blameless.”

Cyclonus seemed to take a moment to consider his statement, before he stopped, and offered the blue mech a smile. Magnus turned to look at him, and found himself immediately distracted by the way the low light of the hall accented the contours of the other mech’s face, softening him in some places and highlighting him in others. 

The effect was entirely complementary, and as his optics strayed over the other’s lips he felt that strange and familiar heat creep up his neck once more. He straightened somewhat, and Cyclonus nodded, his own gaze sweeping away from where he’d been evidently doing his own inspection of the Autobot before locking with Magnus’ once more.

“I think that your efforts to rectify the situation overshadow whatever complicity you may have had with worsening it in the first place.” He assured, his voice quieted to a hum to better fit the atmosphere around them. Slowly, the jet laid a hand across the larger mech’s arm, just below his pauldron, in a gesture that was almost strange in the sense of normalcy it brought him. Ultra Magnus offered the Decepticon an uncertain smile and ducked his helm.

“Thank you,” he said, just as softly as the horned mech had spoken before. 

For a moment, they were still, but eventually Cyclonus withdrew his hand and turned back towards the hall where Magnus’ office waited for them. The Autobot straightened as well, and side by side they returned to walking, a comfortable silence between them. 

The halls of the High Command offices were quiet, most of the lights dimmed to conserve power while the majority of the command staff was out of the building. From down the main hall and around the corner where they had come from, the bustle of the tactical center could be heard as little more than a dull hum of activity. When coupled with the soft patter of rain coming through the window and the soft glow of the auxiliary lights, the place was positively homey. It was impossible not to feel calm here at times like this, Magnus assured himself as he strode slowly back to his office with Cyclonus barely a half-step behind him. They drew up just short of the door inscribed with his name and rank, and the taller mech pressed his palm against the pad next to it. After a moment it chirped a greeting to him, and the door slid back to reveal the space that the Autobot knew better than his own home. 

He put a hand over the slot the door had disappeared into, motioning for the jet to go first, and when the shorter mech had cleared the threshold, he stepped in as well. The Decepticon stood near to the center of the room, looking around at the furnishings with just the smallest hint of wonder on his face. On the back wall, mounted between two windows, there was a case filled with badges and other medals of honor, some battered and pitted from obvious battle, others pristine and new. Above both windows and circling the top of the room was a series of shelves, spaced a tasteful distance apart, filled with a wide variety of objects. There was another, sturdier set of shelves physically set into the wall adjacent to the door, shelves groaning with a litany of tightly packed, pristine datapads of a black coloration, their contents glyphed in a tasteful gold down their spine. 

In the corner behind the desk was a potted plant, something Cyclonus recognized very vaguely as Earth flora, imprecise glyphs spelling out the name  _ Charlie _ on the lip of the pot. His desk was predictably clear, two large chairs of a variety made to expand or contract to better suit the user perched in front of it. Magnus circled around the shorter mech, grabbing one of the chairs and lifting it over the desktop to plant it right next to his own massive seat, which he pushed aside. He looked at the setup, then nodded, turning back to his unlikely companion with a smile. 

“There, that should do it. I hope you don't mind sitting close to me?” He asked as he sunk down into his chair and gestured to the one he had moved. The purple mech smiled.

“No, Ultra Magnus, I somehow find myself doubting that proximity to you will be a problem for me.” he said as he moved around the desk and fiddled with the settings on the chair before relaxing into it. He watched as the larger mech woke his holo-console, its three monitors fading to life pleasantly. 

They fell into a working rhythm quickly, the semi typing in the provisional terms as they came up with them, every so often being stopped and corrected in his wording to make things more digestible overall for Galvatron. It was calm, and comfortable, and several other things that Ultra Magnus had thought he would never use to describe being alone with a Decepticon. Cyclonus was willing to admit that he was unpracticed with judicial procedure, often laying a hand on the Autobor’s arm and pointing out a string of text that didn't make sense to him, seeking clarification. The blue mech would provide it, and sometimes they would have a short conversation about a term or the way it was used, before falling into their relaxed silence once more. 

By the time the last drops of rain were pattering against the window panes, the taller mech sat back in his chair and scrolled back up through what they had accomplished. The majority of the contract was outlined, with the rest of the work able to come only after the specifics had been negotiated by the group as a whole. 

“Well, that's about as far as we can go today,” He said as he checked his chronometer, “The others aren't due back until at least dusk, either. I truly thought that would take us longer.”

Cyclonus smiled at him. “Time flies, they say, when you're having fun.”

The older mech screwed up his face into something close to a smile, though heavily tinged with confusion. “I can't tell if you're being sarcastic. Rodimus tells me I’m the only one who could find paperwork fun.”

The jet’s smile fell. “Anything can be enjoyable when done in good company.” 

Magnus flustered, rising reluctantly to pull a stack of blank datapads out of one of the desk drawers by his legs. With a pile in hand, he rounded the worktop and loaded them into a data distributor tucked on the far side of his desk, queueing the thing to download copies of the draft to each of the devices, before righting himself from his crouch.

“I suppose the only thing to do now is find a way to occupy our time.” He murmured. Their easy silence returned as both thought on it, before the Autobot continued in a soft voice, “Have you eaten today?”

“Asking me to dinner already, Ultra Magnus?” he teased, chuffing when the taller mech’s face screwed up and he began to protest. “Unfortunately, that will have to come at a later date. I’ve already eaten, yes.”

The blue mech cast about for some sort of distraction from his embarrassment, despite the obvious humor it brought the other. After a moment of watching him flail, Cyclonus cleared his vents to draw the ruffled mech’s attention, then pointed to a shelf above the door.

“Isn't that a Terne board?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his helm on his unoccupied hand. “We could play that.”

Skeptically, Magnus looked from the folded up board to the jet. “You… you  _ want  _ to play  _ Terne _ . With  _ me. _ You want to play _ Terne _ with  _ me? _ ”

The shorter mech squinted, confused at the taller mech’s balking. “...Yes? Assuming, of course, there is no Autobot custom I am unaware of that makes wanting to play Terne an insult to your person.”

The semi straightened, shaking his helm. “No, it's not that, not at all, just… Terne is a very  _ long _ game. Are you sure?”

“If I recall, it is also very challenging and complicated. I remember being told it evolved from early battle simulators. It sounds like just precisely the sort of thing you and I would both enjoy.” He reasoned. The blue mech’s expression, which had been falling slowly as the younger mech described the game, suddenly lit at his last words. Cyclonus smiled at his obvious joy, watching as he turned to retrieve the board which was perhaps the dustiest thing in the room. The jet moved the chair he had occupied back around the other side of the desk as Ultra Magnus unfolded the board and powered it on, watching as the three separate holo-platforms flickered to life, the weakness of its light a testament to the board’s age.

The taller mech shuffled around in a separate drawer for a moment before drawing out a package of energon sticks, looking sheepishly at his companion as he sunk down into his chair. “I hope you don't mind?”

The jet shook his helm, smiling once more. “I think we should call it even, so long as you are amenable to sharing.”

The time passed between them amiably after that; they exchanged chatter and playful barbs about their game, knees brushing beneath the desk in a way so casual that Magnus could find no reason to prevent it when he finally noticed it was happening. Afternoon turned slowly to evening, and with great reluctance they both rose when the tell-tale rumbling of the shuttle rattled the walls, saving their game. Together, they made their way back down the hall towards the entrance of the capital building in easy silence. Just before the door, Cyclonus grabbed the larger mech’s wrist, and he turned to regard the jet curiously.

“I wanted to thank you,” Cyclonus said, smiling at the other mech warmly. “I have not had as much fun in my whole life as I had with you today, Magnus. Thank you, truly.”

Magnus flushed, but did not try to hide it that time around-- he was much too preoccupied trying to parse the stark sincerity of the other’s words, the honesty in his face, and the warmth that had suffused his spark when the other said his name. “Y-yes. Well. I enjoyed myself, as well, more than I have in a long time. I look forward to finishing our game.”

The purple mech’s smile softened somewhat, and he nodded, releasing his larger companion. They turned in unison and exited the building. 

It wasn't until the Decepticons had left once more, and Rodimus was complaining to him loudly about Galvatron’s behavior that the blue mech had puzzled out what had filled him with the strange sensation.

Cyclonus had shortened his name-- and for once, he had liked the sound of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading!! I hope you're enjoying this fic. If you see any mistakes, or think I should add a tag, please drop me a comment and let me know! Happy Wednesday!!


	4. Chapter 4

Time passed, and Ultra Magnus found himself irritatingly distracted as it did. More than once, his thoughts would wander while he stood at Rodimus’ shoulder in a foyer full of alien dignitaries, his mind occupied by the memory of the soft smiles he’d shared with Cyclonus in the dim of the Command Hall days before. The Prime would nudge him surreptitiously when he would miss a question from one of the visiting ambassadors, and he would startle and answer with a sheepish look on his faceplates. It did not stop there, either; soon, he was finding himself behind on his work as his attention was stolen by the purple mech despite the distance between them. He would retire to his apartment late into the night-- doing so now out of necessity, as he struggled to empty his work inbox by the end of each day-- and lay quietly in the dim light of his hab-suite, thinking only of the way his knees had brushed the Decepticons while they had played Terne together in easy silence. 

Eventually, recharge would take him, and his dreams would be no easier to understand. In them, he found himself standing in a grassy field full of flowers, watching as the jet danced in the blue sky above him. Cyclonus flew much like he fought, all controlled strength and grace. His mighty engines bent the currents of the atmosphere to his will in a strange, beautiful way, bringing to mind memories of the very same Decepticon launching himself into the smoke of sundry battlefields.  The dream-mech would swoop down over Magnus, close enough that he could lift his hand and ghost the tips of his digits over the purple plating that made up the other’s hull, before pulling up and corkscrewing through the fluffy clouds towards the golden sun overhead. Some undefinable length of time would pass, and the sun would be low on the horizon before Cyclonus would transform mid-air and land, haloed in warm light, his crimson optics so clear and piercing that every time the bigger mech would be sure that this time, it was real-- this time he was  _ there _ . The jet would stride closer, every inch of him radiating power, stopping an arms length away.  They would exchange words that the semi could never remember, and Cyclonus would smile at him, flashing just the barest hint of sharpened dentae from behind his scarred lips, and even in his dream the autobot would be taken by the strange weak-kneed, warm-faced sensation that suffused him when the purple mech would turn those coy smiles on him. 

Then, the dream jet would step closer, and Magnus would wrap his big arms around the mech’s waist, compelled by something he couldn’t name. The horned warrior would tangle his arms around Magnus’ neck, and reach up on the tips of his pedes at the same time that the semi would crane his neck downwards, his spark beating so hard that he was sure that the other could feel it through his thick plating. Their faces would come closer, and closer still---

And he would wake,  _ gasping, _ to the blaring of his alarm. 

Each one seemed to get more and more vivid, leaving him restless but exhausted at the same time, as if he hadn’t recharged at all. It was endlessly frustrating, and endlessly  _ tiring  _ besides, and he found himself growing listless as time went on. He had hoped that soon the confusing fluxes would cease, or at least  _ plateau,  _ and he would be able to adapt accordingly-- but they were only getting worse. He worried, idly, that if it continued he’d end up passing out at some unknowably inconvenient time, but he couldn't truly bring himself to care that much. He trudged into the capital building's cafeteria after having deemed preparing his own breakfast too taxing with so little rest, and after a moment or two of waiting for his order, moved to sit at the closest table in a weary slump.

He cupped both hands around his energon, staring into the mid-grade dejectedly as if it would suddenly reveal the answer to his predicament to him. The whole mug was warm, and it smelled strongly of his favored additives. He sipped it absently, only breaking optical contact with its depths when it was too close for him to see comfortably, before lowering it once more.

Absently, he recalled Cyclonus’ hands being warm in much the same manner.

He didn't hear the door open behind him, so absorbed in his thoughts was he, and it wasn't until a hand fell onto his formidable shoulder that he realized he was no longer alone. He jolted violently, warm energon sloshing out of the mug and over his digits to splatter on the table as he turned to see who had touched him. Tiredly, he looked from the hand still gracing his pauldron up towards the face of the mech it was attached to, who regarded him with something between concern and distrust.

“Kup,” he greeted, setting his mug aside to regard the mess coating the table and his servos. The older mech surveyed him silently, moving his stogie from one side of his mouth to the other.

“You look preoccupied.” He opined, “Feel like sharin’ with an old mech?”

Magnus screwed up his face into something bashful, nodding slowly. “I think… talking might help.”

The green mech nodded decisively and pat the larger mech’s shoulder twice, muttering a quick, “I’ll be back.” before shuffling off towards the counter. The semi watched him for a moment before looking down at the mess on the table, at what little was left in his cup, and the energon that had started to dry into a sticky nuisance on his fingers. Even now his thoughts escaped him; the first thing that came to mind was a pang of guilt-- the Decepticons were going without, scraping by on low grade, foul-tasting energon made from crude oils, and he had just wasted nearly a whole cube of energon mindlessly.

His mind wandered from there; had Cyclonus eaten yet that orn? Was he hungry? If he were there, would he have taken to cleaning the energon off the blue mech’s servos with his glossa?

Magnus shook himself, then, because Cyclonus was the second in command of the Decepticons, and not some character in one of the lewd, trashy novels that Springer hoarded. He deserved respect, and beyond that, his situation was alarmingly miserable. It deserved rectification, not fantasizing. The guilt took him again at the thought, that he had seen the other’s hunger as something to be fetishised, and he frowned deeply.

Before his thoughts could get much further, Kup returned with two wet towels and two mugs of energon. He passed one to the second in command, then set his own mug aside as he swiped up the mess covering the tabletop. When we was done, he tossed the cloth aside and handed the other to the bigger mech to wipe his hands on, flopping into his chair across from Magnus and pulling his drink closer.

“So,” he began, taking a long pull from his cup around his cy-gar, a feat that mildly impressed the blue mech, “Spill it. What's eatin’ ya’, kid?”

The semi smiled wryly, mulling over his words for a moment, sighing eventually. “I believe I have a crush.”

“Only took ya’ a few millennia.” Kup snorted, smirking at him. “I somehow get the feelin’ there's more ta’ this story, though.”

Magnus sunk down, folding his arms around his mug and burying his face into them. “You don't know the half of it,” he groaned.

“So get me up ta’ speed.” Kup offered. The bigger mech was still for a few moments, before turning his helm towards the green mech, who watched him patiently.

“He’s been... unexpectedly accommodating--  _ kind _ , even. He told me he was interested, and I didn't know how to respond. Half of me is hung up on how inappropriate fraternizing with him would be, while the other half is fixated on how… appealing the idea is.” he explained, sighing again. “As time goes on and we are together more often, I can feel my propriety losing ground to the self-indulgence.”

“Besides you bein’ a stick in the mud, what's the problem here?” The green mech prompted. “There's gotta be somethin' else ta’ it or ya’d have worked it out yerself by now.”

For a moment, Magnus waffled over whether or not to tell the shorter mech-- but eventually, his desperate need for advice won out, and he buried his face in his arms once more. “It's  _ Cyclonus.” _

Kup said nothing for a full klik. When he finally spoke, he pulled his stogie from his mouth and wiggled it thoughtfully between his fingers.

“What's Cyclonus doing?” he asked, sounding confused.  The blue mech raised his helm and squinted at his friend, feeling much the same as the truck did, before he realized the problem and straightened somewhat.

“Kup,” he said softly, “ _ He’s  _ the one I have a crush on.”

If Magnus was expecting an outburst, or condemnation, or even a  _ frown _ , he didn't get it. Kup replaced his Cy-gar, shrugging, clearly unperturbed. “Alright. What's the problem with that?”

The semi balked. “He's--  _ he’s the enemy! _ ” he offered desperately, sinking back onto his elbows, “Our armistice is finalized but it's far from a true peace treaty. If I allow myself to become infatuated with him, it could compromise my ability to lead if we return to hostilities!”

“Yer’ too pessimistic,” the other opined, shaking his helm. “Have a little faith that things’ll work out. This is the closest we've ever been ta’ peace. Ya’ worked hard yer whole life. If ya’ think it'll make ya’ happy, go after 'im-- and don't let nobody tell ya’ different.”

Magnus peeked at the green mech over his vambraces, looking sheepish and uncertain. “You don't think it's wrong?”

Kup shook his head slowly. “Times’re changin’. People’re changin’. If there's one thing I learned in this life, when ya’ find somethin'-- or some _ one-- _ that makes ya’ happy, ya’ gotta grab 'em with both hands, and hold on  _ tight. _ ”

The blue mech laid his helm back down on his arms, his expression thoughtful as he mulled over the other’s words. The older mech watched him think through the predicament while he finished his energon, replacing his Cy-Gar at his lips when he was done. Eventually, the larger mech’s eyes glowed a little brighter, and a slow smile spread across his face. He sat up, regarding the other gratefully.

“You're right,” he said softly, voice reverent as if he had just discovered some wonderful and unknowable truth that would solve all his problems.

“I know,” The sergeant agreed seriously as he sat back in his chair, puffing at his stogie and pillowing his arms behind his head. “Always am.”

* * *

Charr was a barren planet, cold, dead, and covered in ruins. The Decepticons had made good headway in creating something livable, a respectable capital for their cause at the behest of their leader, and it pleased Cyclonus to see that their efforts were showing. The city construction crept away from the command tower at its center in lazy strips, the effort mostly undirected, making the capital look like some strange gangling creature when viewed from above.

The planet lacked any significant atmosphere, and most of the buildings were built to accommodate mechs with aerial alt modes, leaving them open and filled with the bitter chill of vacuum. The Jet was so accustomed to the gelidness that he didn’t notice it as his mind wandered, his gaze distant. He was unaware of Galvatron approaching, until a powerful hand gripped him by the shoulder and spun him. Immediately, he reached for his weapon, faltering only when he saw the face of his master before him, twisted with an ugly rage.

“My Lord Galvatron,” He greeted over the short-range comm network that had been established in the city, ducking his helm in deference, “What ails you?”

Galvatron released him, still glowering. “I demand an explanation for your actions with the Autobot Magnus!” 

The horned mech considered idly that this was an improvement-- Galvatron now sought clarification for the sleights to his person instead of simply blasting anyone he pleased. “I am unsure which actions you refer to.” He said, his voice measured.

“You are  _ fraternizing  _ with the  _ enemy!” _ he snarled again, shoving the shorter mech against the wall roughly, “I am not  _ blind,  _ you blithering fool! I see the way you look at him! I should have you dismantled for  _ treason! _ ”

“My lord,” He said, raising his hands placatingly, his voice still impressively even. “Forgive me for presuming to act without your leave. Would you allow me to explain?”

“I  _ command it!”  _ bellowed the crowned mech in response.

“I have devised a plan to manipulate Ultra Magnus, and bend him to your will. The Autobots are  _ weak,  _ my lord. They value intimacy and affection.” He began, watching as the words seemed to work their way through Galvatron’s near incoherent processor. “In order for the ruse to be successful, I could not tell you. Your reactions, if any, had to be genuine. I will lull him into a sense of security, and when the time comes he will  _ willingly  _ help us to overthrow the enemy, and regain your rightful place as  _ Ruler of Cybertron!”  _

Slowly, the words sunk in, and even more slowly, a wicked smile began to creep across the taller mech’s faceplates, growing until it became a toothy grin. “Cyclonus,” He laughed, “I  _ do  _ enjoy the way you think.”

Cyclonus straightened. “Thank you, my lord. I live to further your goals, and regret only having been unable to tell you until now.”

“I will pardon it this once,” The canon-mech opined reluctantly. “But from now on, you will tell me beforehand if you plan something like this, or I will have you  _ smelted  _ and cast into a footrest for my throne!”

“Yes, My Lord Galvatron. Thank you for your generosity and understanding.” the horned mech plied, crossing an arm over his chest and bowing deeply.  The other mech nodded smugly, before turning on his heel and quitting the room without another word. Cyclonus straightened only once he was gone, staring at the door his master had disappeared through with a sickening roiling in his tanks and a strange anxiety clutching his spark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the second best chapter in the whole fic and im so sorry honestly   
> anyway enjoy some actual uhhh plot development maybe? lemme know if you see any glaring errors, and thank you for reading!!! happy wednesday, my dudes


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and suddenly out of the ether comes a 6k word chapter. length consistency whomst?
> 
>  
> 
> OTL
> 
> the first part of this chapter is sort of inspired by the song The Great Escape by Woodkid, so if you're feeling like it, listen to it while you read! (also this one is probably my favorite of all the chapters so i hope you like it as much as i do)

In the coming orns, the peace process came to a screeching halt. Once the Decepticon leader had been placated concerning his potential territory, he had predictably demanded to be given amnesty. It had taken several hours to explain to him why his subjects could not simply walk free, that there was a process to be followed especially considering the havoc his faction wreaked with the various signatories of the Commonwealth Treaties.  They had managed, finally, to convince him to cooperate with the procedure, which was only a small victory in the metaphorical war that was reaching an accord. 

The next step was to actually make sure he followed through with the daunting task of meeting with all the relevant foreign heads of state, impressing on them his desire for peace, and getting them to agree to allow him into the Commonwealth as a sovereign entity. The whole idea had made dread grip Magnus’ spark-- because if there was one thing that Galvatron was not, it was  _ peaceful _ , and his presence would sour any negotiations trying to prove such notions.  Thankfully, Cyclonus was fast on his feet, and quickly volunteered himself to act as his leader's envoy. That Rodimus had delegated the same task to the semi was a coincidence-- but it was at least an agreeable coincidence. 

That day had seen him and the horned mech heading from destination to destination, repeatedly explaining the situation as it stood and convincing dignitaries to allow the nuisance that was the Decepticons into their fold. They had made great progress, surprisingly, and before either had realized it they were on the last of the stops. Alteria’s sun was high in the sky as they touched down, making their way through crowded streets and narrow alleys on the way to the Imperial Palace, the silence between them both comfortable and professional. When they appealed to the Imperial Court, they offered the same justifications as they had offered to every foreign body on every world before it. It had gone over well enough, but the details still took time; the contract had to be negotiated and approved, each point reasoned and debated-- but even against a court of sixteen members, it didn’t hold a candle to the frustration of working with Galvatron, and Ultra Magnus was pleased to find that the star was still looming just above the distant mountain-crested horizon when they were sent on their way, signature in hand.

“Well, that was considerably less daunting than it was made out to be,” Cyclonus offered with a humored slant to his mouth. The blue mech returned the not-quite smile as he watched the Jet stretch; despite sleeping as badly as he had been, he hadn’t felt the same lethargic drag as he did on most days. In fact, not only was the exhaustion absent, but upon seeing Cyclonus come down the boarding ramp at the spaceport that morning, he had felt vaguely energized. He attributed it mainly to the knowledge that the horned mech’s presence guaranteed a deluge of fulfilling and interesting work, and thought about it no further. 

The taller mech made a noise of assent and cast another glance to the setting sun, frowning slightly before continuing reluctantly. “As much as I would like to linger here with you, I believe it best that we return. Springer is not the most patient mech, especially when it comes to Decepticons, and I shudder to think what damage his temper might cause if he’s forced to idle around your leader too long.”

“Fair enough,” Cyclonus agreed with a chuckle. Together they made their way back through a volley of avenues and boulevards, turning to cut back through the same marketplace they’d come through on the way to the palace. If it had been busy then, it was  _ packed  _ now, and Magnus balked at how densely the area was populated. Navigating crowds had never been a favorite activity of his, often either too loud or too soft spoken, never having quite the right volume to his voice or force to his touch to wade through the unnerving oceans of people. Thankfully, on Cybertron, he was someone of great regard, whose gravitas made a path  _ for him _ . Here-- not so much. Just another faceless mech in a crowd of similar individuals. Not even his frame size was enough to gain him leeway here. 

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and began the complicated song and dance of trying to excuse his way through a massive assembly. It was a predictably fruitless effort; overzealous shoppers bumped into him without pardon, pushing him into groups of others. His pedes were stepped on repeatedly, his paint was scratched by the grating of strangers’ plating on his own, and what he had meant to be a straight shot from one entrance to the other had ended up being a vague arcing path instead as the unruly horde forced him to the edge of the space.  He grunted he was shoved rather roughly by an exotic looking mech chasing what the semi could only assume was their child, the force knocking him into the stall he was pushed up against. To his dismay, the vendor seemed to specialize in exclusively  _ very fragile  _ decorative pieces of blown glass.  A domino effect occurred, sending each one rattling into the other and ending with two of them crashing to the ground, shattering noisily beside Magnus’ rather formidable pedes. He looked stricken as he met the enraged optics of the dealer, who began shouting at him so loudly and so quickly that his translator chip could barely keep up.

“I’m sorry,” He plied as the spindly mech picked up each of his remaining wares with his four servos and began checking them for damage. “It was an accident. I’ll pay for the damage.”

The insults did not slow, much less stop, the vendor regarding him with a look better leveled on someone who had murdered the stranger’s family rather than broken a few of his goods. He reached into his subspace to fish around for his credit stick as the other continued to berate him, but was stopped by as clawed hand on his forearm. 

“Ultra Magnus! I thought I might have lost you for good.” Cyclonus greeted, smiling warmly at the other, seemingly unfazed by the incensed ranting going on beside him. At once Magnus realized that the horned mech probably dealt with outraged screaming a lot in his daily life, and so phasing it out was just about as common for him as mediating was for the Autobot. Under the shorter mech’s foot, glass crunched and ground, and the taller mech frowned at the sharp sound it made even over the din of the crowd. 

“Yes, it seems I’ve gotten into some trouble,” Magnus murmured dejectedly, causing the jet’s smile to falter as well. From behind the stall, the salesmech, fed up with being seemingly ignored, leaned forward and grabbed the semi’s wrist in the hand attached to one arm while snatching his credit chit with another, tugging on it. Before Magnus could even try and placate the offended mech, the Unicronian beside him had lunged forward and grabbed the mech by the back of the neck, slamming his face into the unstable top of his roughshod booth. All manner of accoutrements were knocked aside as the Decepticon produced a blaster to press into the temple of the offending stranger, snarling at him in the strange unknowable language that all the Alterians spoke.

Magnus was so shocked he couldn’t quite parse the words the other was shouting by the vendor’s audial-- or whatever passed as an audial-- and when he blinked back to awareness, his concentration was stolen by the shrill cry of a whistle breaking through the noise of the market. He cast about to find it’s source, looking harried, and startled once more when he locked optics with two wrathful guards trying to make their way forward, tweeting their long whistles like their lives depended on it. Panic filled the Autobot’s spark, and he grabbed Cyclonus and yanked him back.

“We have to go!” He shouted, as the crowd caught sight of the advancement of the guard and burst into intrigued chatter, only raising the noise level around them. The jet followed his gaze, glaring at the incoming authorities with all the confidence of a mech who knew he could vastly out-skill and overpower any foe. Once more looking around, at the mess at their pedes and the crush of the crowds around them, the semi grabbed the stall by the sign that stood above it and jerked forward. Every piece of glassware fell to the ground, exploding into countless shards in a cacophony of noise that pierced even the buzz of the mob. Countless eyes fell on him, and he drew a great breath, before bellowing, **“** ** _SCATTER!”_** at the top of his vocal capacity. 

The bazaar fell into immediate chaos, and the burly constabularies were swallowed up by the frenzied movements of a crowd given cause to riot. Without hesitating for even a moment, Magnus grabbed the horned mech beside him by the wrist, wasting no time in trying to discern the other’s reaction, and began to shove his way through the throng. The path he cleared was gone just as soon as he and his companion had moved through it, opening in front of him and coming back together behind the purple mech like a boat through water. He pushed until they were dumped into an alley draped in long shadows from the sun which crept ever downward, closer to the horizon behind them, and took off running as fast as he could. The passage was little more than the space between buildings, lined by garbage receptacles and objects of all kinds that he occasionally overturned in an effort to keep the local authorities from following them at any considerable pace. He knew they were headed farther and farther from the spaceport, but doubling back was an impossibility at this point-- so he continued to run, hand keeping a crushing grip on the other’s wrist, leading them around sharp, rapid turns and down small streets, heedless of their position within the city. 

When they crashed to a stop, the sky was dark. Each stumbled to opposite sides of the cramped throughway, Cyclonus catching himself on a dumpster while the taller mech tripped over a stoop and barely managed to keep himself upright with the hand he'd thrown out towards the wall. Their vents heaved, fans whirring loudly as their frames struggled to cool themselves. After a scant handful of seconds, Magnus glanced up and caught the other’s gaze, blinking as the other began to chuff. It was quiet at first, the purple mech’s shoulders shaking as he sunk down the wall. Before the semi could find a suitable reaction, the warrior’s cachinnations intensified into roaring peals that echoed off the walls and down the alley. It was infectious in the worst way, and the blue mech found himself snorting, which within moments grew into chuckles, and before he knew it he was sprawled across the same stoop he'd stumbled over before, howling right along with the jet.

“What in the world is so funny?” he gasped as their laughter ebbed. Cyclonus offered him a jovial smile as he scrubbed at his optics, and some distant part of the Autobot was urging him to notice how terribly handsome the horned mech looked when he smiled so honestly.

“Of all people, I never once thought I would run from the authorities with  _ you,” _ the purple warrior explained, his frame still convulsing with chuckles. Ultra Magnus guffawed, somewhere between indignant and amused, and together they lapsed back into slightly quieter hysterics for a moment more. When their jocularity subsided, they regarded one another in the dimness of the alley; Cyclonus’ optics were lambent and warm, skittering over the semi’s faceplates fondly while he gathered himself to stand.

The Autobot watched him as he rose to his pedes and crossed the distance between them to offer a servo. With barely a moment's hesitation, he wrapped his own hand around the jet's. The horned mech planted himself and pulled Magnus to his feet with an ease that belied his size, and the blue mech-- having assumed he would need to exert more force to rise than he had-- pitched forward slightly and had to stagger a few steps to keep his balance. He nearly crashed into Cyclonus, who slung a steadying arm around his back, his other hand still holding the grounder's. 

Heat suffused Magnus frame like a spark igniting a puddle of gasoline, and he quietly offered thanks to Primus that his fans had already been on. The jet was  _ so close,  _ looking up at him with an expression identical to the one he wore in the dreams that had been haunting the semi for the past three groons. It was so similar that for a brief moment, the larger mech feared that he was dreaming again-- but that worry was chased away quickly. This was  _ too detailed  _ to be a flux; he had never felt the warmth of the other mech’s frame in his imaginings, never heard the soft whir of his vents or felt the pleased rumble of his engines as he looked up with his florid optics and his self-satisfied smile. 

It was real, and it was overwhelming. His spark flipped and shuddered in it’s casing as the horned warrior’s hold went from steadying to caressing, his hand sliding down to the small of the Autobot’s back, his face becoming just a touch softer. Magnus could feel his own face flooding with warmth, and he gaped, searching for something to say-- something to  _ do _ \--

But the Jet stepped away after only a moment longer, his smile softening. 

“We should start back,” he said, casting his gaze toward the mouth of the alley, “If we dally much longer, we will be late.”

The taller mech cleared his vents with a huff, nodding as he struggled to collect himself. “You’re probably right.” He said. 

Cyclonus stepped forward, casting a look that was both fond and amused over his shoulder at the taller mech, clearly privy to his embarrassment. Magnus joined him after a moment, and together they turned the corner and began to make their way back to the spaceport as if nothing had happened.

* * *

The stars over Cybertron shone brightly, even with the light pollution of Iacon. The breeze that swept through the courtyard was balmy and cool, brushing over Soundwave’s plating comfortably while he sat watching the sky as Jazz began his approach, fuel in hand. When the shorter mech drew near enough, Soundwave looked over and offered him a thankful brush of his field as he took the cube he was handed, watching the saboteur plunk down beside him to take a swig of his fuel as if it wasn’t just slightly this side of boiling.  His mask snapped back, and he blew on the cube softly before bringing it to his lips and taking a tentative sip, more than aware of the Autobot staring at him. It was hard not to be aware of it-- the moment his mask had opened, Jazz had fallen still, his visor brightening in obvious curiosity. The surveillance mech pulled the energon away from his face, and offered a hesitant smile to the other, who looked struck.

“Soundwave: Offers thanks for the fuel.” He intoned quietly, his voice unmodulated by the filter and somehow more expressive without there being any real change.  Jazz seemed to jolt out of whatever stupor had taken him, coughing awkwardly and offering a nod.

“Yeah, yeah, mech, it’s cool,” He said. There was a beat of silence where he glanced back to the doors through which they had come, before he continued, “So, you said somethin’ about talking?”

Soundwave shifted. “Jazz: remembers previous offer?”

The shorter mech nodded as he pulled his cube away from his mouth, swallowing quickly. “About needin’ t’unload? Yeah.”

“Soundwave: Desires to take advantage.” came the reply after another moment of quiet so hesitant that Jazz thought he would never speak. 

“Well, it’s open to ya’. What’s on your mind, Sounders?” He said, doing his best not to stare at the surprisingly attractive features the other mech had so casually revealed to him. 

The blue mech pursed his lips, which didn’t help the saboteur to keep his mind on the conversation at all. He stared down into the softly glowing surface of his drink before he began, something suspiciously like a sigh leaving him as spoke. 

“Soundwave mourning: Extended to more than just people.” he said quietly in reference to what he’d admitted to the smaller mech groons before. The air between them was suddenly heavy, and Soundwave continued to speak just as softly as he had before, though it was halting-- as if he were searching for the right words. “Assumption: Loyalty to cause. Realization: Loyalty to Megatron. Megatron’s death: Inspired reflection. Soundwave: feels guilt for connivance. Megatron: encouraged despicable behavior. Soundwave: Did terrible things in Megatron’s name. Soundwave: Regretful.”

Jazz thought a moment, swishing his energon around and watching the flakes of silver nitrate swirl around and shimmer in the light of the moons. He wondered just how hard it was for the other to admit to doing wrong, even in such a roundabout manner. 

“I can’t give ya’ absolution.” He said finally, looking back towards the taller mech, who was looking at the stars once again. “I can’t tell ya’ it’s not your fault-- cause it is. Ya’ did bad things.”

Soundwave somehow managed to become quieter, cowed by the saboteur’s words, his face tilting down and away. Jazz could feel a jagged, miserable edge to the other’s field where it brushed against his own, and he crossed his legs casually before he spoke again. “But, we all did bad things. Ya’ can’t go back and fix it. All you can do now is move on and try to make amends.”

There was an uneasy silence between them as the taller mech seemed to digest the other’s words. Jazz did his best to keep his attention on other things, and not the way the Decepticon worried his own bottom lip between his dentae, raking the slightly pointed tips of his teeth across the soft, pliable mesh over and over again. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the white mech wondered if perhaps this nervous tick was why Soundwave wore his mask in the first place-- but when the other relaxed against the back of the bench, looking ready to speak, the Autobot shook the thought from his mind, ready to listen once more.

“Soundwave: unable to stop regretting Megatron’s death.” He admitted, as if it was the greatest confession, “Soundwave: unable to stop  _ missing  _ Megatron. Foible: frustrates Soundwave.”

Jazz relaxed back into the bench too, leaning over to prop his elbow on the arm of the seat closest to him, taking a pull of his lukewarm energon.  “When ya’ know somebody as long as ya’ knew Megatron, I expect it's gonna hurt some way or another for a while. It don't matter if he was a saint or a sinner, when it comes to the spark-- he was part a’ your life for a long time, and to have that taken away will mess ya’ up like it or not.”

The taller mech nodded ruefully, pretty faceplates twisted up in startlingly apparent distress, optics flickering from the door to each of the windows as if seeking out something before he continued to vent, this time with a strange edge of conspiracy in his whisper-quiet tone. “Soundwave: fears Galvatron. Galvatron mind: Unstable, disorienting. Galvatron: paranoid, distrustful, quick to anger. Soundwave: unused to suspicion, violence from leader. New paradigm: unnerving.”

Jazz scoffed. “Don't need telepathy ta’ see that mech’s a few bolts short of a starship.”

The blue mech nodded, hunkering in onto himself. “Soundwave: Conflicted, Reluctant to leave Galvatron. Hope: After treatment, Megatron's memories return. Fear: Harm coming to symbionts due to Soundwave’s reluctance to escape dangerous situation. Situation: stressful.”

The shorter mech worked his jaw. “Even  _ with  _ treatment, he might not remember ya’. Cyclonus and Scourge ain’t half as backwards as Galvatron, but as far as I know they don't remember who they were ‘fore Unicron got 'em, either. I can understand where you're comin’ from, but ya’ gotta ask yourself what's worth more to ya’: A chance at gettin’ your boss back, or a guarantee that the people ya’ care about-- the ones still here, that ya’ can still protect-- are safe?”

Soundwave bowed his helm, his jaw tight, and Jazz watched for a few moments longer before standing. “Sorry ta’ do this to ya’, Sounders, but we gotta get goin’ Magnus an’ Cyclonus should be gettin’ back in about a breem.”

The shorter mech turned to leave, but Soundwave lurched suddenly to his feet and grabbed his servo. The saboteur turned slightly, offering his once-adversary a curious look over his shoulder, and the surveillance mech looked trapped for a moment before he let go, ducking his helm.

“Soundwave: Thankful for Jazz’s help. Query: Speak again at a later time?” The other intoned. A part of Jazz wanted to say no-- wanted to tell the host-mech that he'd offered all  the wisdom he had on the matter, and that he couldn't do anymore to help him, but Soundwave looked so agonizingly hopeful in that moment, so vulnerable without the cover of his mask to hide his emotions-- and the white mech nodded before he could stop himself.

“Sure, mech.” He said, smiling something playful as he jerked his helm towards the doors to the capital building. “Walk me home?”

For a moment, nothing happened, and Jazz wondered if somehow the taller mech hadn't heard him, but then a tiny, dazzling smile spread across the Decepticon’s face like ink through water, growing into something that seemed almost too big and genuine to be on the faceplates of such a seemingly unfeeling mech. He nodded, stepping forward, and the white mech hooked his arm through the host-mech’s. He caught a glimpse of the beginning of a wash of color informing Soundwave’s features before his mask snapped closed again, but decided not to question it.

They walked back into the building arm-in-arm, a strange contentedness suffusing the both of them.

* * *

Rodimus was waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp, his hands on his hips. Ultra Magnus somehow didn't doubt that word of their escapades had made it back to Cybertron by now, but the thought of facing the repercussions for the actions he'd taken in his panic made him slightly queasy. The big mech paused at the mouth of the ship, looking nervously down at his leader, before Cyclonus prodded him curiously and he stepped forward, steeling himself for the first reprimand he'd had in eons.

“Do you  _ really _ think  _ you're _ in trouble?”  The horn mech whispered to him as they walked down the boarding ramp. The blue mech made a vaguely affirmative noise, but then turned his head to better regard his purple companion.

“If you don't mind, go to my office and wait for me. Nothing with Rodimus ever takes very long, and I doubt this will be any different.” He said. The Decepticon nodded, and as they reached the bottom of the ramp, Rodimus was crossing the space to meet them.

“Ultra Magnus!” He shouted, as Cyclonus broke away from his side and made for the doors to the capital building. The big semi shrunk, looking down at his pedes like a chastised  child as his leader approached. “I got a  _ call _ from Presiding Justice Tenokkla. Any guess as to why that might be?”

The taller mech raised his hands, face contrite. “Rodimus, I--”

“Destruction of property? Inciting a riot? Resisting arrest, assault and battery, illegal possession of a firearm, disturbing the peace?!” The red mech continued. Each charge felt like a physical blow, leaving the semi sagging in the silence that lingered in the wake of the accusations. Suddenly, Rodimus seemed to relax, and he grinned, setting his hands on the blue mech’s shoulder amiably. “ _ Damn,  _ Magnus! I didn't know you had it in you.”

The taller mech startled, blinking once, then twice. “ _ Excuse me?” _

“It’s about time you cut loose!” Rodimus said, his somewhere between  _ proud  _ and  _ impressed,  _ sending Magnus reeling. He gaped, mouth moving uselessly in an attempt to form words to express how baffled he felt at his leader’s commendations, and gripped the shorter mech’s arm in his own massive servo.

“Rodimus, I broke the law. I could have caused a diplomatic incident, I could have  _ irreversibly damaged  _ our relationship with the Alterian Legislature, I could have dismantled the entire commonwealth-- and you’re  _ congratulating me?” _ He said, his voice brought high and reedy in distress. 

“It was  _ one little accident,  _ Mags. We paid reparations--  _ generous  _ ones-- and the the Alterian Legislature forgot all about their vendor. It’s  _ not  _ a big deal.” The red mech said, his face screwed up in almost piteous humor. He turned, guiding the desolate semi forward towards the capital building with a hand on his back. “I do have to ask, though.  _ Why  _ did you run? Why not just… legalese your way out of it? I  _ know  _ you could have.”

Magnus looked thoughtful, shuffling forward towards the big transparisteel doors to the Autobot headquarters. They entered together, stepping aside and pausing as the bigger mech thought hard about what to say to his expectant leader. 

“I… I was scared, I think.” He began, optics flicking up to the ceiling as he thought back to the strange rush of urgent emotion that had taken him over when he’d seen the guards approaching. “Not for myself, though. Mostly for Cyclonus. He’s still not much more than a criminal in the commonwealth’s eyes, and I… was afraid of what might happen if we were apprehended. He was-- the whole thing happened because he was trying to _defend me._ The stall vendor was upset, and grabby, and tried to yank my credit chit away from me. I can’t speak with any real certainty, you know how I get in crowds, but I think he was trying to help me in the way that was most familiar to him.” He paused, taking in the look on the shorter mech’s face; he seemed skeptical, but his field read only of prickly confusion where it met Magnus’. The blue mech continued, “I didn’t want him to get in trouble for trying to help, even if his method left something to be desired.”

It was the red mech’s turn to look thoughtful, though his field still broadcasted his confusion as he crossed his arms and thumbed his chin, optics directed to the floor. A long, quiet moment passed between them, the semi waiting for his leader to come to some sort of decision about his actions. The silence they shared was heavy, but also strangely comfortable.

“Yeah, alright, fair enough.” the red mech sighed after a beat. He nodded to himself, snapping finger guns at his second, “Thanks for being honest about it-- I’ll let this slide, ‘cause it’s kinda cool to know you did it and I can’t find the motivation to punish you, but just… don’t make a habit out of it, yeah?”

Magnus nodded and watched him turn away as if to leave, a smile on the smaller mech’s handsome faceplates, but then he spun again. “Oh! And I promised you and Cyclonus would write an official apology to the Alterian state, heads up. They didn’t give a deadline but it would probably be better if you were prompt about it.” 

“Of course, sir.” The semi replied, doing his best to conform to protocol despite the casualness of his leader. “I’ll get with him to take care of it before they leave.”

Rodimus flicked his gaze down Magnus’ frame, then back up it to his faceplates as if taking in some unknowable quality his his second that only deep scrutiny could reveal. He squinted, faceplates thoughtful, but then nodded again as if to agreeing with himself.

“Right. Right. Good. Do that. Send it to me and I’ll stamp it and send it off to them.” He said, sighing again as he turned away and began down the corridor, angled toward the inventory. “Later, Maggie.”

The blue mech watched him go, letting a slow sigh leave him only when the tips of his leader’s spoiler had disappeared around the corner. After a beat, he collected himself and made his own way down the main hall, turning left towards the command hall. The walk was long enough for him to gather himself, but by no means truly lengthy, and he drew to a stop at the other side of his office doorway from his literal partner in crime. 

Cyclonus was leaning against the wall beside his name-plate, one arm crossed over his chestplate and the other holding a datapad that he scrolled through with a distinct affect of disinterest. Magnus watched him swipe away at the device for a long moment, until finally he turned his gaze toward the larger mech slowly, his lips immediately tilting up at the edges into the same coy smile he seemed to always carry around the Autobot.

“No drumhead?” He queried playfully, and the blue mech turned his face down toward the floor in a half-hearted effort to hide the amused slant of his mouth. “And here, with the way you acted on the flight back, I thought I’d be visiting you in prison.”

Magnus chuckled. “I sometimes think Rodimus is as unpredictable as Galvatron is, though perhaps in a different manner.”

The horned mech’s smile softened, but morphed into something pensive almost too fast for the big Autobot to have caught it. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you did not earn any punishment-- and I apologize for my actions. They were inappropriate.”

The bigger mech looked from the warrior, to the darkened depths of his office as he palmed open the door, and then back. The jet almost seemed like he was expecting his taller companion to begin berating him, his plating pulled close to his body and his posture tense. Magnus nodded. “I appreciate your apology, and I forgive you. I… believe I understand what compelled you to act in such a manner, and while I detest the use of violence, I can appreciate the sentiment behind your actions.”

Cyclonus looked at him suddenly, eyes wider and brighter in his shock than the grounder could ever recall seeing them before, and the semi offered him a warm smile. After a moment of nothing happening besides the decepticon blinking at him confusedly, Magnus gestured into his office.  “This will only be the second most inappropriate thing I do with you today, but would you like to join me for a drink?”

The Decepticon glanced from the utterly sincere look on the bigger mech’s face to the big office, his confusion still evident and his field rife with conflicting emotions. Magnus took a hesitant step back, now uncertain himself. “You don’t have to feel obligated to,” He said, “I’m… sorry if I’ve overstepped--”

“No,” Cyclonus replied after a moment, raising both of his hands placatingly and closing his optics. He stayed like that a beat before taking a deep vent and offering the Autobot a smile. “No, I would love to. I simply… That was not the reaction I was expecting.”

Magnus nodded mostly to himself as the other passed him, watching the jet settle himself into the chair he’d configured to his standards of comfort the last time they had spent time in his office together. The blue mech followed him in after a moment, passing the desk and plucking a half-full decanter and two squat, squarish glasses off of a shelf above his window, before turning to settle into his chair. 

“Rodimus has informed me that we’re required to write a joint letter of apology to the Alterian Imperial Court before you leave for the orn,” He said casually as he drew off a bit of the engex from the decanter into each glass. He picked one up and held it out to the Jet, who took it with a quick brush their hands and a coy smile before sitting back into his chair, looking smug.

“Scourge has informed  _ me _ that we are to be put up in Iacon for the night to continue discussions early tomorrow. It’s my opinion that the apology can wait until then.” He said, his voice a quiet rumble. He was positively sprawled in his chair, his legs stretching forward into the space under the massive desk.  Magnus nodded, swirling his drink around idly. 

“That sounds perfectly agreeable to me.” He said haltingly, watching the horned mech with a strange fixation. That damnable heat spread under his plating, and he feared that it would show on his face as tracked the movement of the cup up towards the normally dour faceplates that now held only humor and affection. Scarred lips pressed to the rim, and somehow over the sudden roaring in his audials he heard the faintest tinking sound as pointed dentae tapped the inside of the glass when it was tilted. Cyclonus took a deep pull of the lightly colored potation, and he could see the slight movement of the purple mech’s intake as he drank. The realization only further flustered him, and he quickly tore his gaze away and focused on some indeterminable point on the wall instead before the jet’s optics could flicker back to life and witness his odd behavior. 

He cleared his vents with a huff, and brought his own glass to his mouth to take a few quick pulls in a manner that was anything but inconspicuous, turning back just in time to catch the sight of the warrior’s glossae sweeping across his lips. He forcibly denied the request for his cooling fans to activate, instead lifting his armor as far as it would go to let out the heat as the other offered him a smile that was equal parts suspicious and playful.

“This is a fine vintage,” Cyclonus said casually, the mesh around his eyes crinkling with his amusement. Magnus wilted somewhat, stretching out in his chair and nodding, keeping his gaze away from the other’s face.

“I’ve had it since before the war. It was one of the few nice possessions I had working at the docks.” He offered casually, “I like to save it for special occasions.”

If it was possible, The jet’s quiet mirth deepened, and he inched his pede forward under the table until he could stroke the larger mech’s toeplate with his own. Magnus looked up owlishly, blinking at the sight of the other. His smile was genuine, his cup held in both hands and curled close to his chestplate, and his field was light and contented where it ghosted on the very fringe of the semi’s. He looked as close to serene as Magnus could imagine him ever being, and the honest affection in his gaze made his spark stutter.

The larger mech vented deeply, willing himself to calm down, and after a long moment of waffling, pulled his drink to his lips and slid his pede along the side of the purple mechs. There was a beat where Magnus could only guess Cyclonus was confirming he had truly felt the reciprocation, before the other’s smile deepened, and the autobot found himself infected by the warrior’s delight. The strange tension that had suffused them broke away quickly, leaving them to share their drinks in the quiet of the office space, the tranquility broken only sparsely by their amiable conversation. 

Soon enough, Cyclonus was roused from his languor by a ping to his comm, and he sat forward in his chair far enough to deposit the glass on the edge of the desk by his counterpart’s nameplate. Magnus watched curiously as the jet rose to his pedes in a liquid movement and stretched, his own glass still held to his lips idly despite having drained it nearly a breem before. 

“Scourge says we’re being escorted to our boardings for the night,” He sighed in explanation to the unasked question. “And I fear I have foisted Galvatron onto my cohorts too long to be appropriate.” He turned his lambent gaze back to the semi, lips quirking up once more. “I have thoroughly enjoyed the time we spent together this orn. 

I do hope we can find the time to spend together like this again.”

Magnus rose to his pedes, rounding the desk and depositing his glass as he did, stopping perhaps too close to the other to be wholly decent.  He looked down into the faceplates of the Unicronian, which had softened as they relaxed together, and offered his own smile, however slight, and spoke in a hushed tone. “I would like that.”

“Then I will look forward to it happening.” the horned mech returned, his own voice brought low to match the larger mech’s tone. His optics flickered from the autobot’s own eyes to his mouth a few times before he pulled away reluctantly, beginning to don himself once more in the social vestments that befit a decepticon warrior. Before he allowed his expression to harden in preparation to meet his associates, he offered another warm look to the taller mech. “Have a good night, Magnus.”

“You as well,” He returned quietly, watching as the other ruthlessly expelled any softness from the way he held himself before stepping to the door and disappearing through it. He listened to the sound of quiet conversation between Cyclonus and Scourge, to the sound of their pedes retreating, and then to the unwelcoming silence of the offices when they were gone. He cast his gaze around, trying to remember if there was anything pressing to do through the sudden wash of apathy that took him, before his eyes fell on the cup the other had used.

He picked it up, studying it quietly. There was the slightest series of smudges on the rim, one over the other, imprecise and careless, where the warrior’s lips had pressed, and on the very edge of the inside of the glass was the slightest scratch where his dentae had rakes just a bit too hard. Suddenly he was awash in heat, a smoldering thing that spread across his plating in unpredictable waves, that made his spark twist in his chest strangely. He moved around the desk and flopped ungracefully and uncaring into his chair, twisting the glass in his hand idly as his thoughts raced. He would have to add  _ ‘being inspired to feel jealous of a cup’ _ to the list of things Cyclonus had helped him to experience for the first time, he thought wryly. 

In the silence of his office, he chuckled to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is mostly unbetaed so punch me if you see any big errors, as always. thank you for reading!! happy wednesday!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once more, this is gay and unbetaed. please punch me if you see a big error. happy wednesday, my dudes.

Dawn broke over Iacon the next morning, and brought with it its own share of problems.

The time difference between Charr and Cybertron left all of the individuals with a strange fatigue; they had felt the need to retire later in the evening, but woke just as early the next day. Their boarding was a tentative thing, with guards protecting the entrances to the empty tenement they’d allowed the Decepticons to rest in. Cyclonus was no fool, and knew the soldiers at the door were as much for keeping them  _ in _ as for keeping others  _ out _ ; He had risen from his berth before the day cycle had truly begun, and took to pacing the long hall they were inhabiting for the night. It was nearly a nervous thing, a mindless cycle of steps that brought him from the corner where the exit to the street was, to the emergency exit at the far end of the corridor, his pace measured as he thought. 

Those thoughts were quickly interrupted, however, by the sound of a door clicking open. Scourge peeked around the threshold, catching his friend’s optics and quickly gathering himself to approach the other warrior. The Jet paused his wandering until Scourge had caught up, and together they made for the end of the hall where the smaller emergency exit glowed with the light of the street lamps outside. There were no morning greetings as they both moved to lean against a wall, opposite of one another and just shy of the doors to empty rooms. 

“You and the Autobot,” Scourge began, after a few minutes of comfortable silence. His lip was curled into a knowing, coy smile, and Cyclonus looked away as if embarrassed. 

“I should have known you’d be asking about that sooner or later.” He said, nodding shallowly. 

“Soundwave tells me you’ve informed Galvatron that it is merely a ploy.” He prompted. Cyclonus nodded again, his smile being replaced at once by a thoughtful frown. “Is it?”

The horned mech shifted, uncomfortable. “It is not so simple.”

“As if anything with you is  _ ever  _ simple,” Scourge laughed. “Come now, Cyclonus, tell me what you feel. I am your friend, aren’t I?”

The purple mech cast a glance down the hall, silence filling the space. Unease filled his spark, and he turned his optics doubtfully to his lieutenant.

“He’s still sleeping,” Scourge assured quietly, and Cyclonus sunk back against the wall, anxiety still thrumming through his spark. He seemed to waffle for a moment, looking back towards where he knew Galvatron was resting before looking down and away towards the exit, frowning.

“Perhaps, once, it was nothing but a passing respect. He is… a remarkable warrior. Strong and skilled, honorable. I… I value that.” He began, voice soft and unsure, “And, perhaps, in the beginning, my pursuit of him may have been for disreputable reasons, but I cannot deny I have been… attracted to him, for a while. There has been something there since we were captured by the Quintessons. Now, with time and proximity… That feeling has worsened. I fear…” He sighed, picking at a seam in his armor. “I fear perhaps, despite my attempts to prevent it, that attraction has become something more than just physical.”

Scourge looked at him with an expression somewhere between expectant and concerned, prompting the horned mech silently. The purple jet reset his plating with a soft clatter, turning to step towards the doors and watch the people outside as they went about their day. “I fear, as well, that I may no longer wish to prevent it.”

Scourge stepped forward as well, following the warrior’s gaze until he, too, was watching the civilians beginning to stir to life in the simulated morning that was arriving lazily. “You realize that if Galvatron ever found out--”

“Found out  _ what?!”  _ came the bellow from just behind them, the heavy thud of the larger Unicronian’s pedes echoing suddenly in the hall under the sound of his incensed voice.  Cyclonus tensed, spinning on his heel to meet his leader, but Galvatron beat him to it, wrapping one massive hand around the side of his second’s neck and slamming him into the tinted transparisteel of the doorway so hard that it startled the guards on the other side. “That my second has  _ lied to me? _ That he has become  _ soft  _ for the Autobot Magnus, that he has  _ betrayed me?!” _

“My lord,” Scourge said over the sound of Cyclonus’ grunting. The crowned mech’s helm snapped toward him, and he raised his canon at the shuttle, his face twisted in an ugly rage as he ground his lieutenant into the window.

“Do not pretend you are--” Galvatron began, his voice thunderous, but the mech under his hands interrupted him quickly.

“Innocent!” The jet choked, his talons digging into the tiny seams of his leader’s wrist armor, instinctively looking for the weakest point in his foe. He struggled to continue. “Scourge has done nothing, my lord!”

“ _ As if  _  I can take  _ your  _ word for anything!” He howled, shaking the horned mech once and slamming him back into the transparisteel, which dented outward under the assault. Cyclonus’ vision whited out from the force of the blow, coming online once more just in time for him to see the end of the crowned mech’s fusion cannon aim towards his helm, the heat from it’s priming warming his faceplates uncomfortably. “I should destroy you  _ now,  _ you  _ traitorous wretch!” _

“Galvatron: Desist.” Soundwave intoned, appearing at the Decepticon leader’s shoulder. “Absence of Cyclonus: Detrimental to peace process. Alternative suggestion: Disrupt relationship.”

The big mech seemed unimpressed, but slowly stepped back and released his second in command, his affect one of hatred and fury. He turned his carmine optics onto the telepath, his field suffused with intense menace. Soundwave squared his shoulders and continued. “Peace: Important cover for ultimate plan. Continued suggestion: Prevent Autobot from developing mutual attraction.”

The crowned mech seemed to mull that over for a long moment before shooting a glare to the shorter purple warrior. “You live only by my leave, you wretched dotard, and you would do well to remember it. As of now, you are living on borrowed time.”

Cyclonus bowed his helm, crossing an arm over his chestplate. “Yes, my lord. Thank you for your generosities, Lord Galvatron. You are truly the strongest among us.”

“You had best  _ remember that. _ ” He growled as he turned on his heel and stomped away. After a moment, the tension at the end of the hall seemed to evaporate. Soundwave swayed on his pedes, and Scourge grabbed him by the shoulder, steadying him. Cyclonus’ servo went immediately to his throat, but his gaze was on the masked mech.

“Soundwave, are you well?” He asked, his tone barely more than a whisper. The taller mech held his helm in his hands, leaning heavily on Scourge, who helped him to find the wall without a word, his faceplates drawn tight in concern.

“Galvatron’s condition: Worsening,” He croaked after a long moment, his visor bright with tension as he looked first at the shuttle holding him, and then the jet beside him. “Time: running out.”

The two fliers shared a worried look, and turned together, bracketing Soundwave between them as they returned to their rooms wordlessly to prepare for the day’s work.

* * *

 

The terse silence of the infirmary was interrupted by the sound of heavy pedes, and under First Aid’s hands Cyclonus tensed and sat up, knocking the medic away. The red mech made a noise of protest, but it fell on deaf audials; the jet’s optics were trained on the door, and he was very obviously tuning the shorter mech out. The medic huffed, collected the tray of half-used tools, and walked briskly to the door, muttering to himself as he looked over his shoulder. Distracted by the Decepticon’s strange behavior, he walked directly into Ultra Magnus, who loomed just outside the doorway, a datapad in hand. The tools First Aid had been carrying clattered to the ground as he pulled the tray to his chestplates, letting out a startled meep.

“Ultra Magnus! Sir! I’m so sorry, I didn't see you there,” he said, laughing nervously. The larger mech didn't find anything humorous about the situation, looking down into First Aid’s visor quizzically. 

“I didn't mean to startle you,” he said, his optics flicking from the doctor up to where Cyclonus sat, examining the panels of the walls as if they were the most interesting thing he’d ever witnessed, before looking back down at his subordinate. “You’ve forgotten to turn in your inventory report again.”

“Oh! Right. I’m so sorry. I have it, it’s on my desk--  _ somewhere _ \-- we just have been so swamped from that construction accident I haven't had time to bring it in.” he said, bending over to pick up the various tools and equipment he’d dropped. Magnus watched him, but made no move to attempt to help-- it only took a moment for First Aid to right himself, sliding the tray onto a berth near the door and turning to gesture at the room. “I’ll go find the report, sir. Um. Make yourself comfortable?”

Before the semi could reply, the red mech hurried across the room and into the the back hall where the private rooms and staff offices were. He looked down at the datapad in his hands, then up at Cyclonus, who met his gaze levelly. The Autobot was reasonably sure that the affect he wanted was not what he was getting; the mesh below his right eye was swollen and bruised, the horn on the same side was bent and scuffed, the thick, protective plating of his neck was crumpled, and a nasty looking puncture leaked energon sedately just shy of where his vocalizer was hidden. His field was wary, something the blue mech could scarcely remember feeling from the jet even before the peace talks had begun, and his gaze was measured. It was a stark contrast to the last time the jet looked at him, when his optics were warm, his scarred lips curled into a smile and his field welcoming.

It was pause-making.

That pause was interrupted, however, when Cyclonus spoke. “I assume you have questions.”

“Yes,” Magnus said as he tilted his helm, stepping forward slowly. “But I know it's not my place to ask them.”

The other’s optics continued to bore into him for a long moment before he relaxed, leaning against the wall tiredly.  The semi stepped closer, until he stood against the edge of the berth, resting a hand on it. The jet looked pensive for a moment, then sighed, “You may ask them.”

The Autobot nodded, looking down thoughtfully. While he did, Cyclonus scooted over, making room for the other beside him. The blue mech seemed to think hard about the invitation before finally hoisting himself up onto the surface, relaxing back against the wall.

“I think the most obvious would be the best to start with,” he said, sighing slightly. He turned his helm toward the shorter mech, and with startling sincerity asked, “Are you alright?”

The shorter mech barked a surprised laugh and looked at his taller companion with honest humor. “ _ You’ve _ given me worse.”

“Point,” the semi said, tilting his helm back to look at the ceiling idly, “But any wound can hurt.”

In his periphery, he saw the jet’s faceplates twist in consternation. There was a drawn out silence between them, not quite pregnant but not quite comfortable.

“I am…  _ fine _ .” he admitted quietly, his field rife with conflicting emotions. This close, it was impossible for them to not teek one another, and Cyclonus knew that the proximity was his greatest tell-- but he continued anyway. “Your medical officer assures me I will make a full recovery.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Magnus said softly, not giving the other a chance to respond before he continued, “I assume this was Galvatron?”

This time, there was no reluctance, and the Unicronian’s field tightened into something that felt dangerous, like a promised threat. “You would be correct.”

The semi made a sound of acknowledgement, nodding and looking down into his lap, where he fidgeted with the datapad he’d brought with him. Another pause came, this one markedly more hostile, as if both were aware of the elephant in the room but hesitant to truly address it. Neither looked at the other, and slowly, Cyclonus crossed his arms over his chest. Magnus guessed it was some sort of defensive mechanism, to make him look tougher, like someone who was not to be trifled with-- but instead, with the way his shoulders hunched and he avoided looking at the other, it seemed more like he was holding himself. It was hard for a mechanism as big as Cyclonus to look small by any measure, but he  _ did _ , and the wash of anger that the thought inspired was what drove the Autobot to finally ask.

“If he abuses you like this, why… Why would you  _ stay?”  _ He pressed, looking at the far wall as if it would provide him some clarity on the matter. 

“You are an Autobot. You wouldn't understand. You're too soft, by definition.” The purple warrior rumbled, the words giving the taller mech the impression much more force was supposed to be present in his voice when he said it.

“Maybe so,” the semi said evenly, turning his helm to look at the other once more. “But that doesn’t stop me from trying.”

A flurry of emotions rolled through Cyclonus’ field, mirrored very closely on his face; annoyance, respect, shame, affection, and finally trepidation. Each flashed and faded as quickly as the one before, until finally the jet was left staring into his lap with an expression that was equal parts sickly and confused.  It was likely, Magnus mused, that he'd never thought to put word to the unspoken social behaviors he was a participant of in his daily life.

“I am…” Cyclonus began, hesitating and then trying again. “I was forged by Unicron as a tool for My Lord to use. I was designed to be a servant to him, an extension of his reach with which he would conquer. It is simply not my place to challenge him. It is by his will alone that I live. He… he is my  _ purpose. _ My  _ destiny. _ I am loyal only to him.”

The Autobot listened respectfully, and when the warrior was done speaking, he nodded, looking pensive. “I can respect that, and I’ll drop this subject if that's what you'd prefer. But I have questions.”

After a beat, Cyclonus looked at the other as if he were fighting himself to trust the bigger mech, nodding shallowly. “Ask them, then.”

“First-- who came to this conclusion? Did you decide this yourself, or were you told this by another?” Magnus asked, sliding forward off the berth. He leaned his hip against it, regarding the other levelly, continuing before he could be  interrupted. “Second, What has he done to inspire such loyalty? And thirdly--  _ most importantly _ \-- Is it loyalty, or is it  _ sacrifice? _ Perhaps you cannot see it, but from where I stand, it seems much the latter, and  _ you  _ must ask  _ yourself  _ if he is worthy of it.”

Their gazes locked as the bigger mech finished speaking; his eyes were bright and determined where the Decepticon’s were tired and weary, and his field was hard and filled with surety where the purple mech’s was yielding. For a moment, nothing happened, but then a noise behind them stole their attention away from one another. First Aid was in the doorway, looking concerned.

“Um,” the shortest mech said uncertainly, pulling his hand from the frame and clutching the datapad to his chest. “I can… come back?”

“No, no need.” Magnus said, crossing the space, “I’ve got to get back and finish requisitions so we can get our orders in. I’ve dallied perhaps too long as it stands.”

“Oh. Um. Right.” The short mech said, holding the datapad up. “Sorry for the holdup. I forgot Swoop double-checked my work, so it was in his office.”

“Apology accepted,” The bigger mech said. He paged through the data for a moment before nodding, heading back towards the door when he was sure everything was in order.

“I’ll be on my way. Have a pleasant day.” he said, stopping in the doorway only long enough to turn and regard first the medic, then the jet. “Both of you.”

Cyclonus was busy staring at the wall again, but First Aid quietly mumbled a return sentiment. Satisfied, Magnus turned and headed back down the hall to his office and the siren song of data-work.

* * *

 

Soundwave was still woozy as he walked through the halls of the capital building. Galvatron’s condition had deteriorated to the point that even being in close proximity to him was an exercise in vitality, at best leaving the telepath drained and at worst leaving him sick and disoriented. More often than not he excused himself under the guise of doing work, leaving the command officers to deal with Galvatron's mercurial moods while he put his considerable hacking skills to work against the enemy. Idly, he acknowledged that the Autobots must have been fairly confident in their communication and systems security branches to allow him to wander unsupervised.

Perhaps wander wasn't a good term, though, because he had a destination in mind. Upon arriving back at the command center that morning, he had noticed Jazz was absent. Curious, he asked around and managed to find out that the saboteur was near the back of the building and would be for a while. He had thanked the young mech who had given him the information, then and began to make his way through the maze of corridors towards the auditorium Jazz was occupying. The majority of the lights were dimmed in the halls to conserve power, flicking on in front of Soundwave and off once he’d passed, and the remoteness of the location only served to further pique his curiosity. 

As he rounded the corner and stepped into the hall the room was in, he was surprised by the faint sound of music echoing through the dark space. Far down the way, a sole light was on highlighting Jazz’s location, and Soundwave stepped closer. It was all very mysterious, and he meandered down the corridor with great interest.  It didn't take very long to reach the door, which slid open silently at his proximity; inside, music played from two tall speakers that reached from the floor to the ceiling in the far corners of the space. The area was covered in training mats, and Jazz was moving strangely across them in uneven circles. It took a moment of thought for the surveillance to realize he was dancing, and by that time the shorter mech had drawn to a stop as the song faded out. He turned and and acted as if he was surprised to see the host-mech, but he was more than aware that the saboteur was privy to his presence long before that.

“Soundwave!” he said in greeting, his tone full of cheer, “Like whacha see?”

The taller mech stiffened the other approached, looking down at him with a strange sort of discomfort.

“Soundwave: Curious,” he said, looking around the room slowly. Jazz ushered him into the room, the door sliding shut behind him as they walked onto the mats together. “Query: Purpose for dance?”

“Therapy,” The shorter mech answered, rocking back and forth on his pedes, “Unicron did a number on me, and I'm a pencil pusher until I get cleared for duty. Dancin’s a lot like fightin’, uses the same flexors and all in a similar way. Hopefully if I do enough of it, I’ll get back into fightin’ form and I can get back onto the front lines.”

Soundwave contemplated the other's words for a long moment, his field pensive and drawn in but not inaccessible. He shifted in place, clearly uncomfortable, and Jazz grinned, continuing, “You're welcome to join me if you're feelin’ it.” 

The surveillance mech startled out of his thoughts, his plating pulling tight to his form as he looked at the other, wary and confused. The white mech beamed at him, tapping his foot to some imagined beat. When the Decepticon said nothing, Jazz continued, “Ya’ ever danced before, Sounders?”

Slowly, the Soundwave shook his head. The answer was clearly unsatisfactory, because Jazz’s smile faded into a frown that seemed almost concerned. “Never? Not even by yourself?”

Soundwave shook his helm again: “Dancing: confusing, chaotic, often requires partner. Soundwave: Lacks compatible partner.” After a moment he continued, “Galvatron: Views dancing as foolish, weak. Punishment likely if caught.”

The more Soundwave spoke, the deeper Jazz’s frown got, and the shorter mech shook his helm in condemnation at the words. “Well, that just ain't right. I  _ know _ ya’ like music, and dancin’... dancin’ just makes music so much  _ better.” _

“Dancing: Confusing,” the host-mech offered again in excuse. A beat of silence passed between them as the shorter mech worked his jaw, a thoughtful expression on his face, before he put his arms out toward the other, offering his hands.

“Dance with me,” he said seriously. Soundwave startled so hard he took a step back, looking at the shorter mech with as much confused incredulity as his features could contain. Jazz nodded. “I'm serious. Dance with me. Ya’ won't get in trouble, I’ll know long before Galvatron ever gets close to the door and ya’ can break off and act like you're gathering intel if he checks in.”

Soundwave still looked reluctant, glancing between Jazz and the door with clear unease, his movements jerky where usually they would be fluid and precise. After a moment, the shorter mech continued, slightly lost for words. “Ya’ don't  _ have to _ , but I think ya’ should experience it. It's just…  _ important. _ ”

The Decepticon glanced at the door, trepidation informing his features, before slowly, nervously stepping forward. He slid his larger hand into the shorter mech’s, looking at him so guilelessly that it almost confused Jazz. This strange, anxious affectation was so unlike the cold and unfeeling mech he'd come to know through the war that it was startling. He was unable to find the tell, though, the mark that this was truly a ploy, and the idea that the larger mech had been genuinely cowed into such a jittery mess was alarming on several levels. He wondered just how bad Galvatron had to treat the big mecha to render him into this.

“Query: What comes next?” Soundwave asked quietly, pulling the saboteur from his thoughts. Jazz smiled, stepping forward and into the larger mech’s personal space. He guided the tape deck’s unoccupied hand to his shoulder, then wrapped an arm around the other’s back, tugging him forward until they were flush.

“Well, ya’ follow my lead. It’ll be a little tough because of the height difference and all, but we’ll work with it and see how it goes.” he offered. “I get the feeling you're a quick learner, so we’ll start with something structured and get looser as ya’ get more comfortable. Sound good?”

Soundwave nodded. In truth, he hadn't the slightest idea what the shorter mech was talking about, but his smile was easy and his field was welcoming and the Decepticon was reluctant to do anything to sully the peace between them. He watched as Jazz’s visor dimmed, and after a moment a song started; it was slower than what the shorter mech had been dancing to by himself, its sounds organized neatly and deliberately. It was a waltz, one Soundwave had never heard before. After a beat, Jazz began to move in time with the orchestration, tugging the surveillance mech to move with him, offering quiet instructions on how to follow along. It was not a very hard concept to grasp, the steps easy to follow once he found the pattern. By the end of the song, they were moving around the room in lazy circles together. 

“Ya’  _ sure _ you’ve never danced before?” Jazz asked, his field filled with humor. Soundwave nodded confusedly, and the shorter mech’s smile widened. “Coulda fooled me. But then, that’s nothin’ new, is it?”

Soundwave’s field rippled with something almost bashful, and the shorter mech couldn’t help it-- he laughed. The next song started, and they continued to dance around the room together amiably. Their silence was only broken by the shorter mech’s occasional instruction or praise. Jazz’s mind was calm and clear, the tranquility of it a balm to the helmache that had been inspired by Galvatron’s internal chaos. They swayed through the next song, and then another, before Jazz stopped the music and pulled away, grin still in place.

“Well, ya’ got that down pretty easy. Whaddya say we step it up to something more challenging?” he asked. Soundwave nodded. Jazz seemed to think again before nodding himself, seeming satisfied. The music stirred to life, now much less orderly and more distinctly emotional, the timing hard to predict and the tempo much higher. Jazz began to pull him through the moves, which were much more complicated. The shorter mech spoke constantly, guiding him through each change in position with a soft voice and encouraging field, dropping little casual compliments when he’d do something right. The first song went by in a blur of instruction, the actual music relegated to background noise as he thought hard about the order; the second came and went in much the same way, but this time his movements were smoother, more informed. With each song that passed, the method came easier and easier, until he and Jazz moved across the room together in near-perfect harmony to the rhythm of the music.  The more they danced, the more the surveillance mech enjoyed himself, his field eventually settling into something that was soft with a quiet joy. 

At the end of the next song, Jazz dipped him. The act in itself was not new, as the saboteur had done it several times throughout teaching the taller mech the new dance form, something he called a Tango-- what  _ was  _ new was how deep he tilted Soundwave backwards, the strange intensity in his visor. His smile was gone, and suddenly the blue mech was aware of how the grounder’s vents heaved, how that motion caused Jazz’s bumper to ghost gently over the side of his own chest, how his hands had tightened, but more than anything he was aware of how close the other’s faceplates were to his mask. Whatever trance the surveillance mech had fallen into was broken now, and the white mech seemed to sense it. Slowly, a knowing smile spread across the Autobot’s face, his lips curving handsomely. For a moment, nothing happened, but then Jazz’s leg began to shake under the stress of holding up his larger dance partner. Soundwave struggled to stand, a strange kind of panic suffusing him, a drive to get as far away from the saboteur as he could as quickly as possible.

“Jazz: Tired,” he said when he’d pushed away from the other, standing a little more than arm's length from the white mech. “Soundwave: regrets harm caused to Jazz from ignorance of condition.”

Jazz opened his mouth to speak, a confused look on his face, but the Decepticon cut him off. “Jazz, Soundwave: Reunite at meeting.” his helm tilted down towards the saboteur’s damaged leg, then back up to look into the white mech’s faceplates, his hands curling in and out of fists nervously. He looked as if he was going to continue, but instead he turned on his heel and rushed from the room, his field a maelstrom of emotion.

Jazz watched him go wordlessly, a smirk on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> thanks for reading


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. Here it is. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)   
> prepare yourself for a lot of out-of-character...ness ;;

When Ultra Magnus returned to his office, he was surprised to find it occupied.

The palm scanner had been smashed, and the door dented so badly it couldn’t open  _ or  _ close properly. Upon seeing the damage, he decided that whatever was on the opposite side of the door was probably going to be bad enough to ruin his day-- and he speculated it had something to do with Galvatron.

When he managed to muscle the door open, he was unsurprised to find that he was correct; The big purple mech sat on his desk, posed nothing short of lewdly. His thighs were splayed open wide, hands braced behind him to push his formidable chest forward, his arched back only accentuating the effect. Had it been anyone else, it would have succeeded in being erotic.

With Galvatron, it was just annoying and  _ sad. _ Despite his attempts to be alluring, his self-confident sneer was still in place, and with great frustration the semi realized that he’d knocked no small number of items off the desktop.

“Ultra Magnus!” The canon purred, as if it was some huge coincidence to see the Autobot in the office that bore his name on the door. 

“Galvatron.” Magnus returned flatly, crossing the space to begin collecting his possessions. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering what I would be doing here,” Galvatron continued, as if the other’s clear disinterest meant nothing to him. The blue mech hummed something of an affirmative, so the Decepticon continued, “I come to you bearing a wonderful proposition.”

“I’m somehow sure you don’t,” the bigger mech grumbled, and the crowned mech’s helm tilted toward him, his smirk fading. 

“What?” He asked, tone offended.

“I said, I’m somehow sure you don’t.” Magnus said after a moment of hesitation, wondering if he truly wanted to get into an argument with the other. It took only a moment to remember where he had just come from, who he had been speaking to there, and he was immediately fortified. He straightened, name-plate in hand, and frowned at the other, who looked more insulted than the semi had ever seen anyone be in his whole life. 

“You don’t understand,” Galvatron growled, menace radiating from him, “I’m here to offer you a once in a lifetime tryst.”

“I understand  _ completely. _ ” The taller mech asserted. He moved until he was looming over the other, field filled with a cold fury and optics blazing with uncontainable hatred. Their eyes met, and the purple mech’s face fell from an enraged sneer to something more neutral, as if he had only just remembered how powerful Ultra Magnus could be, and was suddenly cowed by that power. “Let me be very,  _ very  _ clear on this, Galvatron. I don’t care what is happening between us politically, I don’t care who you think you are or what you think you have to offer me. I want  _ nothing  _ to do with you. I want nothing to do with _ you _ , or any other Decepticon. Do you understand me?”

Slowly, the crowned mech nodded-- and while his face was probably the blankest that the semi had ever seen it, his field was a riotous thing filled with a near-blind anger. 

“Good.” The semi said, stepping back and dropping the handful of datapads he’d collected off the floor onto the surface next to the other’s silver thigh. “Now close your legs, get off my desk, and get out of my office before I have you removed.”

Amazingly enough, the other complied with one last wordless half-glare, leaving Magnus in the silence of his office with a mess to clean. When he was gone, the semi leaned forward and braced a hand on the top of his desk, the other reaching up to pinch between his optics, where a major helmache was brewing. He sighed deeply, but then turned to address the disarray his office had been left in. Thankfully, the mess was not a full on disaster, and by the time Rodimus rounded the corner, it had nearly all been squared away.

“Hey Mag--  _ woah,”  _ he said, stopping so hard Magnus was sure the shorter mech had left skid marks. He gestured at the damage to to the door and the servo-scanner, looking bewildered. “What the  _ hell,  _ mech? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning or something?”

The blue mech looked over his shoulder with a hum from where he was standing, skimming the contents of all the datapads that had been knocked aside to figure out which was which. He caught sight of Rodimus’ gesture just in time, and sighed so hard it could almost be considered dramatic. “Oh,  _ that.  _ Galvatron decided he needed to surprise me with a visit, so, instead of waiting outside my door like a healthy individual he decided to break in.”

“ _ Galvatron  _ was here?” Rodimus said, stepping in and looking around the office as if he’d never seen it before. “What’d he want?”

Magnus sighed again-- which the red mech thought had to be some kind of record-- and tossed a flippant gesture over his shoulder. “He had it in his mind to…  _ proposition me. _ ”

Rodimus choked. “Woah. Wait. Hold on. Just a minute, here-- you’re telling me, turns-into-a-gun, would-probably-fight-his-own-shadow, self-proclaimed-scourge-of-the-universe  _ Galvatron  _ was  _ here,  _ and he wanted to  _ fuck you?” _

The human curse startled the semi out of his mid-work revelry, and he turned to look at Rodimus with an owlishly incredulous expression. The red mech shrugged sheepishly, moving to one of the chairs in front of his second’s desk to configure it to his frame. Magnus jolted from where he was sinking into his own chair, reaching an arm over his desk to stop his leader.

“Not that one,” he said. The shorter mech gave him a strange look from where he was stooped at the chair controls, and he shifted uncomfortably before explaining, “That one is set up for Cyclonus.”

“... _ Right _ .” The orange mech said finally, straightening and turning to the opposite chair as his larger friend sank back into his own seat. When he finished changing its dimensions, Rodimus flopped down into the chair and sprawled, setting his elbows on the armrests and tangling his fingers over his chest. There was a long moment of silence where the semi shuffled, skimmed, and reshuffled his datapads as if pretending he was working would be enough to keep the younger mech from asking something very uncomfortable.

Predictably, it wasn't.

“So, are you gonna tell me what's going on with you and Cyclonus  _ for real _ or do I gotta get Arcee on your case?” The Prime asked as if it was a perfectly casual thing to do so.  Magnus wilted, leaning forward until his forehelm touched the desk. 

“I couldn't tell you what's going on with Cyclonus and I if I  _ tried.”  _ He muttered dejectedly. This seemed to perk the red mech’s interest, and he sat forward in his chair.

“But there is  _ something.”  _ he prompted. The semi sat back into his chair, regarding his leader with a large amount of frustration.  He hesitated, nodding.

“Something.” he confirmed quietly. “He says he's interested. I’m… I  _ think _ I’m interested. We… talk. I had a drink with him last night. I don't know how serious it is.”

Rodimus looked startled. “A  _ drink _ ? As in, a drink of the engex you didn't even crack when we killed Unicron? You shared it with him, after helping him run from the cops?”

Magnus nodded slowly, unsure of where his leader was going with that line of thought. The red mech sat forward and rubbed at his face silently for a long moment, before grinning lazily at his second.

“Magnus, buddy, that's not serious. That's fraggin’  _ terminal.”  _ He said, chuckling quietly. The semi’s expression turned decidedly miserable, and Rodimus threw his hands up placatingly. “Listen. I can't say I approve, but you're an adult and you're not a fool. I'm sure you can handle it, whatever  _ it _ is-- just… whatever you do about it, be safe, alright?”

The bigger mech watched his leader stand and stretch, confusion rolling through his field. “Is that all you came to do?”

“No, I actually came to check on requisitions, the letter you and Cyclonus owe the Alterian Legislature, and to tell you that we pushed today's meeting back til joor twenty two.  Springer’s got some... _ thing  _ with the new enlists.” The red mech explained. The semi flustered at the mention of his overdue work, but Rodimus continued. “I can assume that Galvatron sort of threw off your groove though, so I'll get out of your hair for now and let you sort this out. Make sure you call maintenance about your door.”

Magnus blinked at the spontaneous burst of responsibility coming from his leader, then nodded. “Of course, sir. I’ll get on it right away.”

“Cool. Later, Maggie.” the shorter mech said, turning on his heel and quitting the room without another word.  The big Autobot watched him go, regarded his work with a sigh, then bent himself to the task of making crooked things straight once more.

* * *

The twenty second joor of the day arrived much more quickly than Magnus would have preferred. He'd fortunately managed to catch up on most of his work before then, but knowing that did very little to improve his mood. He had arrived at the boardroom nearly a breem early, as usual, but was not alone for long. The door opened once more to reveal Scourge and Springer, both silent but acting seemingly civil to one another as they entered and took their own seats. The Decepticon immediately began reviewing the work that the semi and Cyclonus had done together the previous day, while Springer lounged in his chair with his arms crossed, staring at the wall with a frown.

The whole board filtered in slowly after that; Rodimus entered distracted by a datapad, and made to flop in his chair in much the same manner he always did. His distraction nearly caused him to miss the seat, though, and he would have if his second  _ and  _ third hadn’t scrambled to grab his chair and shove it closer to him. The commotion was enough to grab the Prime’s attention from his work, and he looked up and around dazedly trying to figure out what had happened. He seemed to extrapolate easily enough, grinning sheepishly at his lieutenants before adjusting how he sat. Soundwave entered and sat silently, his own datapads set down on the table in front of him. Galvatron entered, an ugly sneer on his face, and dropped into his chair unceremoniously in something that was  _ almost  _ a tantrum. Jazz strolled in, limping but doing his usual great job of disguising it, followed closely by Cyclonus.

Cyclonus looked worse now than he had when the semi had seen him in the medbay; it looked like he hadn’t slept in groons, the effect only worsened by the purplish bruising of the mesh below his right optic. There was a medical patch pressed flush to the plating of his throat, a splotchy greyish thing that stood out against his silver-white neckplates. The sight of the remaining damages stoked a heady rage in Magnus’ spark, but he did his best to quash the feeling. It would be hard to sit through the next few joors of discussion if he allowed that anger to fester.

They began negotiations without much preamble. The majority of the process was lead by the blue Autobot, as was usual, and most of it was reviewing the past day's work for the benefit of the parties not directly involved. A suspicious few number of questions were asked, but Galvatron seemed too preoccupied glaring holes into the big Autobot to be concerned about what he was hearing. Magnus could see Rodimus doing something very similar to Cyclonus, who was following along on his datapad studiously.

It wasn't until later, after the agreements were discussed and explained, and amnesty had been brought up once again that anyone else began to participate. Ultra Magnus had begun to outline the next step in the process when Galvatron sat forward, incensed. 

“This is  _ unacceptable _ !” He boomed, “I  _ demand  _ amnesty for my people!  _ Now!  _ No more steps, no more  _ due process!  _ I was promised that getting the agreements was the last task, but you have extended your  _ due process  _ at every turn! At this rate, there will be no end!”

“Would you  _ shut up,  _ you sniveling new-build _? _ ” Rodimus groaned, completely unamused by the younger leader’s antics, as he rolled his optics dramatically and flopped back in his chair. “Do you even actually  _ want  _ the amnesty or is this some plan to  _ complain us all to death?” _

“Of  _ course  _ I want the amnesty!” Galvatron bellowed, highly offended. At the end of the table, Soundwave hunched forward. “Do you  _ want  _ your  _ peace?!” _

The red mech pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor, a habit he’d picked up from his second. “Yes, Galvatron, we  _ want  _ the peace. The peace between our factions,  _ our  _ peace. I should think you’d want it as well.”

The bigger leader was fit to be tied, leaping to his pedes and slamming his servos down onto the table so hard the various datapads decorating it jumped across their surface. “ _ Never  _ assume you know what  _ I _ want, Rodimus Prime!”

Over the table, Cyclonus and Magnus shared a look. By the time Galvatron looked at either of them, their attentions would be elsewhere.

* * *

The meeting wound down several joors later. Springer was the first to leave citing a need to punch something in a sub-vocal rumble. Jazz shot a look to where Scourge was surreptitiously helping Soundwave up, but after a moment’s hesitation hustled to catch up with the green mech, offering to spar with him to help him vent his frustration.

Rodimus collected his datapads into the crook of one arm, mumbled some orders at Magnus, then quit the room with no ceremony, headed in the vague direction of his office and more likely than not, a stiff drink. Cyclonus went next, carefully avoiding looking in the big Autobot’s direction, and Soundwave scurried out after him, plating clamped tight to his form. The semi was studiously inspecting the work they’d done, editing out the occasional error, and above him he heard Scourge give some propitious excuse to have Galvatron escort him to somewhere that wasn’t the boardroom, getting a sneering affirmation in return. When the blue mech looked up finally, he was alone, and he sighed, gathering his datapads, pushing in both his and Rodimus’ chairs. He exited the room sedately, turning the corner and heading towards his office. 

The visitor waiting there for him was much more welcome this time. 

Cyclonus leaned against the door frame in a mirror of the way he had been before; he was scrolling through the same datapad, the same arm crossed under his chest, his legs kicked out in front of him casually. Magnus looked at him as he came closer, but then averted his eyes and went about programming his new palm scanner. It took only a few moments to do so, and when the door opened the Jet ducked around the corner wordlessly before the semi could step in himself. Peripherally, the Autobot watched Cyclonus slap his datapad on the desk as he stepped into the space torpidly, some cover-question about the Unicronian’s presence at his lips.

The would-be lie died there.

Magnus wasn’t more than a few steps into the door before a strong hand tangled itself into the grill of his alt-mode and he was yanked down and forward against the shorter mech. Cyclonus’ lips were on his so suddenly, before he could even right himself out of his stumble, and together they shambled back until the jet’s aft bumped against the desk, mouths still pressed together firmly. By then, it seemed to register to the semi what was happening, and he leaned forward and planted a hand on either side of the horned mech, who’s servo left his chest and moved upward, the claws of one wrapping around an audial horn to pull Magnus’s mouth closer as he nipped and licked at the blue mech’s mouth, seeking entrance. The semi yielded to him gladly, and Cyclonus deepened the kiss-- and then Magnus was lost to the sensation of their glossae tangling, of the electric way that the jet seemed to map the contours of his mouth needily, of the strength in the arm that helped hold the shorter mech up on the tips of his pedes to reach his counterpart better. 

The Autobot was sure that their kiss had lasted joors, but a glance at his HUD told him better; barely a quarter-klik had passed by the time that Cyclonus released him to pepper smaller kisses against his jaw and audial. The blue mech huffed a laugh, moving to wrap his arms around the jet’s back, pressing his own lips to the edge of one horn in a show of affection that came so strangely naturally to him. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” He said, when the heaving of their vents had calmed and they simply held one another in the quiet security of his office, “But what brought this on?”

Cyclonus pulled back to look him in the optics, and his face was strangely empty, as if he was in shock. It took him a moment to find his words. 

“When they started fighting, I was gripped by this… _fear._ ” He said quietly, looking down at his servos. “I was… I _am_ afraid that Galvatron would call the peace talks off. I was afraid we would go back to Char, and I would never get to… to kiss you. To be with you.” His voice was small as he continued, “I have never felt fear before.”

Something in the semi sunk, and he leaned forward to pull the other flush against his front again. “If it comes to that, we’ll figure something out.” Magnus said softly. It took a long while, but eventually, the horned mech slid his arms around the Autobot and relaxed against him, leaning his helm on the bigger mech’s shoulder. 

They would stay like that for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to punch me for making this fic so shitty so close to the end. Happy tuesday/wednesday, friends. :'] thank you for reading! see you next week for the finale! (spoiler alert: it's gay and also a dumpster fire.)


	8. Chapter 8

The next meeting devolved into shouting almost immediately. 

It was late in the orn when it devolved into  _ chaos _ , however. Tension had been high since the Decepticons had deplaned that morning, and the majority of participants had attempted to be civil to one another. In some cases that wasn’t even hard-- over the past lunar cycle, no small amount of amity had been fostered between the factions. The attempts that  _ were _ made, however, fell apart near mid-orn; Galvatron had begun to rant about the inadequacies of not only his own staff, but of the Autobots as well. 

“You’re being  _ unreasonable _ !” Rodimus countered at the end of yet another string of demands laced with insults. Galvatron shot to his pedes, his field flaring with an ire so potent Soundwave didn't even  _ try  _ to cover up his flinch.

“ _ Unreasonable _ ?!” He boomed, “You wouldn't know the  _ meaning _ of unreasonable if it bit you in the tailpipe you  _ insufferable cur!  _ I’ll show  _ you _ unreasonable!!”

Half the table braced for some sort of attack, but instead, Galvatron spun towards the door and marched away. The significance of the act suddenly dawned on the Decepticons, who all fell out of their chairs in a tangle of limbs and peeled out after their leader, objections and appeasements pouring from them.  Jazz and Magnus rose as one to follow, and a glance over his shoulder told the second in command that Rodimus was on their tail, dragging Springer with him. The procession wend its way noisily through the halls and out the doors, the transparisteel features buckling outward under the force of the purple ruler’s tantrum. 

They regrouped at the base of the ramp to the Decepticon vessel. Soundwave stood to one side, braced on Scourge’s arm as Cyclonus literally begged their leader to reconsider. Galvatron threw him away with a ruthless blow that left his chestplate buckled, then turned and stomped halfway up the ramp before turning around. 

“ _ Rodimus Prime!”  _ Galvatron roared, “When next we meet, we shall be enemies once more!”

Rodimus, who stood at the foot of the ramp, heaved a great and weary sigh-- which was apparently not the correct reaction judging by the way the crowned Unicronian’s faceplates twisted in rage.

“Scourge! Cyclonus! Soundwave! We are _ leaving _ !” He proclaimed, not taking his burning optics off of the Prime, who stared back at him with a long-suffering expression.  Scourge immediately shuffled forward, the surveillance mech moving with him, still draped over his arm. Rodimus made way for both of them, watching as they moved up to pass their leader with downcast optics. Galvatron turned from them towards his second who was climbing to his pedes, murder in his eyes. “ _ Now _ , you oaf!”

The whole group stilled for a moment, watching as the jet straightened and looked at the bigger mech, then over at Magnus. They locked eyes, then Cyclonus set his jaw and took a step back, pivoting slightly to angle himself towards the doors they'd come out of. 

“No.” he said resolutely, “I’m staying.”

It was silent as the grave as the declaration settled in. The horned mech looked past his commander, up to the faces of Scourge and Soundwave. The surveillance mech was inscrutable, but Scourge looked bittersweet, nodding softly to his friend, who returned the gesture. Galvatron spluttered, incoherent with rage, and began to demand his second obey him. Instead of doing so, Cyclonus turned on his heel and began to walk back to the capital building. 

“DO NOT WALK AWAY FROM  _ ME!” _ the crowned mech roared in outrage, raising his canon at his wayward second. The whole gathering tensed, time screeching to a stop. Light poured out of the barrel of the canon as the blast released, and from across the space Magnus let out a shout as he thundered forward into the shot’s path, the force knocking him back into the horned mech, who's grunt was lost over the sudden din of the scene. White-hot pain exploded through the semi, who collapsed, shocked, onto Cyclonus. Behind him, Springer took off at a run to pounce on the big Decepticon, followed closely by Jazz and then Rodimus, Scourge settling his masked charge against the railing to hustle down and help wrench the blustering mech to the ground.

Cyclonus broke through his stupor and pushed himself up on his arms with great effort, prying his way out from under the limp form of the autobot. He turned, optics immediately locking onto the great weeping wound just below the seam of his sparkplates. He surged forward without hesitation, pressing his fingers into the rend and pinching off the biggest lines he could find. The pain the action caused pulled Magnus back from the edge of unconsciousness, and he groaned, optics flickering over the blurry form of the jet.

“You  _ fool!”  _ Cyclonus cursed, looking devastated as their gazes locked. “What in the name of Unicron possessed you to throw yourself in the path of such an attack?!”

“He was aiming for you,” Magnus groaned, hands flitting up to the hole in his chassis, pressing uselessly in an attempt to assuage the pain. “I couldn't stand back and watch that happen.”

“So your idea was to sacrifice  _ yourself?!”  _ the other asked, his voice helpless.  Magnus reached up and wrapped a huge hand around the horned mech’s wrist, drawing his attention towards his face once more. His gaze was determined, but his optics struggled to focus. 

“ _ You _ ,” He said seriously, “Are  _ worth  _ the sacrifice.”

Cyclonus looked struck, but could find no words to offer the other before he was pulled away by a pair of blue arms, flailing uselessly in an attempt to stay near the larger mech. The arms, attached to Hot Spot, pulled him away and kept him from interfering as First Aid and Swoop descended on Magnus. The fire truck shouted something placating, and the jet stilled, turning dazedly in place when he found his feet to watch as Springer and Rodimus struggled to keep Galvatron’s flailing fists behind his back long enough for Jazz to snap stasis cuffs around his big wrists. He shambled backwards, leaning against a street light as he watched the protectobots work together to heave the big blue mechanism into First Aid’s alt mode, Swoop climbing in after him.

The ambulance sped away, sirens blaring, just as Springer and Rodimus pulled a limp Galvatron to his feet, dragging him in the assumed direction of their jail. Cyclonus watched them go as Scourge, trailing Soundwave, moved to bracket him.

The port emptied, and the silence left behind was deafening.

 

* * *

 

Two Arcs Later

* * *

 

Cybertron's new sun shone brightly overhead, warming Jazz’s plating where it fell on him. He sat back on a bench to one side of the airfield, one leg crossed over the other, both arms pillowed behind his head. Beside him, Soundwave sat quietly beside him, Ravage draped across his lap, purring contentedly in the warmth of the sun.

“Funny how things change,” Jazz mused, breaking the comfortable silence between them. The bigger mech looked over at his companion with a curious noise, and the saboteur shot him a smile, nodding towards where Ultra Magnus stood, watching the sky. “Never thought I’d see Magnus waitin’ for a beau to come back from the front lines. Never thought Cybertron’d have a sun again. Never thought there’d be peace like this, either.”

Soundwave watched the healing Autobot for a moment, squinting through the bright light. Jazz continued after a beat. “Durin’ the war, I thought I’d always hate ya’.”

The blue mech turned towards the grounder, face pensive. His voice was soft when he spoke, “And now?”

The saboteur smiled warmly, twining his fingers with the tape deck’s. “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”

The distance between them closed, their lips meeting in the middle ground. Ravage peeked open one eye, swatting his tail with annoyance, and Soundwave laughed as he pulled away. Jazz, catching on, laughed too, and the sound carried over to where the semi stood. Magnus peeked up from inspecting the time on his chronometer, catching sight of their humor, and smiled distractedly before looking back up toward the sky.

The battleship appeared just promptly when it was supposed to, a massive thing pockmarked with burns and dents. It settled into its spot indolently, the ramp extending with a rattle until it locked in place. There was a pause as the new arrival settled, before it's door opened and released a torrent of eager crewmembers-- both Decepticon  _ and  _ Autobot-- out into Iacon. They scattered as they hit the bottom of the stairs, heading out in pairs of two and three to all different places, eager to begin their leave.

The torrent soon slowed into a trickle, the main battalion finally petering out and making way for the command crew of the ship. Each of them exited and made their way toward Autobot high command, most likely to debrief before they, too, would leave in search of some well deserved relaxation. Magnus nodded to one of them as they passed, looking up just in time to see the captain emerge.

Cyclonus looked  _ good. _ The polish he'd had when he'd left on his campaign was gone, worn away by battle, and he sported no small number of scorch marks and dings, his badge of rank hanging precariously from half it's ribbon and blackened by heat. His plating was caked with the dust of the desert world from which he'd returned, and he lingered at the top of the ramp to take in the ever-evolving panorama of the city, venting deeply.

He finally looked down enough to catch sight of Magnus, who stood watching him with a smile on his faceplates. The horned mech’s smile softened, and he began to descend the ramp just as the semi started crossing the tarmac to meet him. The space was eaten up by long confident strides, and Magnus, in his haste to hold his lover once more, planted one foot on the bottom step of the ramp, willing to ascend if he had to. Cyclonus nearly collided with him, the inertia of his speedy descent carrying him forward after he'd stopped. His hands found the Autobot’s chest from where he stood a few steps above, pressing at the edges of the still-integrating protoform graft.

“Who let you out?” he asked, humor in his voice, “I would have thought that First Aid would still have you strapped to a berth.”

“He couldn't keep me,” Magnus said, his voice soft with affection, “I couldn't wait any longer to see you. Welcome home.”

Their lips met, and the semi looped his arms around his smaller lover, pulling him close as they moved together, eager for proximity. When they pulled away, Cyclonus smiled again, a beautiful thing.

“I am glad to be back.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (dusts off hands) another badly-paced and short ending is released unto the masses. ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this story. Your support means the world to me!! If you liked it, I'm glad! If not, well-- I don't particularly blame you, but thank you for reading anyway!
> 
> Happy Wednesday, everyone. See you next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the time table I came up with, for reference! It's by no means canon but it's what I sat down and came up with :X  
> ` Astrosecond - .3 seconds`  
> `Nanoklik- 4.5 seconds`  
> `Klik- Around 3 minutes (40 nanokliks/600 astroseconds)`  
> `Breem- ~15 minutes (5 kliks)`  
> `Joor- 75 minutes (5 Breems)`  
> `Orn- 3,375 minutes/56 hours (45 Joors)`  
> `Groon- ~12 days (5 orns/225 joors)`  
> `Lunar Cycle / Arc- 108 days (45 orns/9 groon)`  
> `Trimara / Chord- 540 days (5 Arcs/ 225 orns)`  
> `Quartex- 3.75 arcs`  
> `Cycle / Solar Cycle- 1620 days/ ~4.5 years (15 Arcs)`  
> `Vorn- 270 years (60 Solar cycles)`
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Happy Wednesday :>


End file.
